


The De-Aged Doctor and the Deathly Hallows

by Whovian101



Series: The De-Aged Doctor [7]
Category: Doctor Who, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-08-08 09:32:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 36
Words: 108,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16426841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whovian101/pseuds/Whovian101
Summary: The Doctor gets caught by a de-aging gun and finds himself as a seventeen year old boy. When the TARDIS malfunctions, he finds himself in the middle of a war of wizardkind.





	1. Prologue

_The Doctor sprinted across the room, trying to escape the gun blast. He wrenched the blue TARDIS door open and dove in, but he was still caught in the blast. Aware of the origin of the gun, the Doctor ran to the lab and began trying to mix an antidote. As he finished, he injected it into his neck. But the gun blast was already taking effect. It was a de-aging gun, a very clever weapon, as it left no trace of the victim. He felt the regeneration beginning, as he hurried to make another antidote, as the first one was only to preserve personality, as each regeneration had their own prefered way of creating chemical compositions. With a flash of energy, he was all big ears again. He continued to degenerate until he managed to complete his formula with only two regenerations to spare, but it took awhile for the composition to take effect. Before he knew it, he was on his last regeneration and aging down until he finally felt the effects stop. Running to the mirror, he looked at the reflection staring back. He looked seventeen, give or take. His hair was brown and he had pale blue-green eyes. Returning to his lab, he created another formula, trying to reage himself. Because his initial formula was rushed, he found that he had a while to wait before his new formula would take place. At least a year. He signed as the TARDIS groaned unhappily, there were too many paradoxes and she didn’t like it. She began to dematerializing, no, they were crashing. The TARDIS shook and crashed, smashing into who knows where. “Where have you taken me?” The Doctor asked, stroking the console as the TARDIS went silent. The she refused to tell him, so the only thing he could do was open the door._


	2. A Welcome to the Wizarding World

Opening the door, the Doctor peeked out, only to find thirteen wands pointing at the TARDIS. Psychic energy emitted strongly from the wand tips. “Ah, I’m in the wizarding world now, am I?” The Doctor was aware of the wizarding world, though didn’t tend to visit often. They were too prejudice and smug. Thought they were _so_ much better than non-wizards, or Muggles as they called them, even though Muggles had made so many technological advances, a whole lot more than wizards ever had.

“Surrender yourself.” A tall, scratched up man said,

“Why of course.” The Doctor stepped out of the TARDIS, locking the door and turning back to the wizards, pulling his wand out of his endless pockets and dipping it into is Sonic Screwdriver pocket. He had gotten one ages ago, one of the finest crafted wands to current date. “I want to say the late nineties.” He smiled, glancing back and wincing at the marks that the TARDIS had made crashing through the field,

“What?” One of the wizards, a boy with messy black hair and round glasses, who looked about the same age as the Doctor appeared, asked, clearly confused,

“Sorry, can never seem to keep track.”

“Who are you?” the scratched up man asked again,

“I’m the Doctor, who are you?”

“Not your code name, your actual name.” he demanded,

“Uh, John Smith.” The Doctor said, holding out his Psychic Paper, a different man who was older and ginger, read it, then sighed,

“Why didn’t you tell us Dumbledore tasked you with keeping an eye on Harry?”

“Oh, you know, I’ve got my reasons.” The Doctor said slowly, calculating his next few words,

“How come you’ve never helped us before, then?” A young woman with vibrant hair asked suspiciously,

“I’m from a long ways away.” The Doctor admitted,

“Look, if Dumbledore trusted him, I trust him.” The ginger man said firmly,

“What about Snape?” The boy with the round glasses asked,

“So he was wrong about Snape, but if Dumbledore trusted him, so do I.” the man reiterated. A hesitation crossed the air, when finally, a man said,

“Molly, can you please set our guest up with a place to stay?” The woman who must have been Molly nodded and bustled inside. After another tense moment, the group dispersed.

As the Doctor milled around, he noticed that everyone seemed very on edge, eyeing him suspiciously. He was set up in the attic in a room with the ginger boy and the round glasses boy. He was walking by the kitchen when he heard the group talking,

“But who is he?”

“I don’t know, but if Dumbledore sent him –”  
“Why would Dumbledore send him? He’s just a kid!”

“I don’t need his protection.”

“Harry, if Dumbledore wanted him to help you –”

“I can do it myself. If he’s like Snape, if he’s working for Voldemort, then I need to leave now. If Voldemort knows I’m here –”

“We need to have faith in Dumbledore. We need to trust that he knew what he was doing.”

“But it’s not just me I’m worried for!”

“We know that, but it would make our efforts tonight seem rather pointless if you left.”

“Yer not goin’ anywhere. Blimey, Harry, aver all we wen’ through ter get you here.”

“I know that –”

“Mad-Eye wouldn’t want –”

“I KNOW!” Harry bellowed,

“Wait till it gets out yeh did it again, Harry. Escaped him, fought him off when he was right on top of yeh!”

“It wasn’t me.” said Harry flatly. “It was my wand. My wand acted on its own accord.”

“But that’s impossible, Harry. You mean you did magic without meaning to; you reacted instinctively.”

“No,” said Harry. “The bike was falling, I couldn’t have told you where Voldemort was, but my wand spun in my hand and I found him and shot a spell at him, and it wasn’t even a spell I recognized. I’ve never made gold flames appear before.”

“Often,” Molly said, “When you’re in a pressured situation you can produce magic you never dreamed of. Small children often find, before they’re trained –”  
“It wasn’t like that,” said Harry angrily. No one said anything for a long moment, than Harry muttered something about needing fresh air, and pushed past the Doctor, crossing the dark yard, then clutched the gate, he looked like he was in pain, so the Doctor ran to his side. He had clutched his forehead and closed his eyes. Recognizing it as a mental attack, the Doctor threw his fingers over Harry’s temples. A voice screamed,

“ _You told me the problem would be solved by using another’s wand!_ ” In Harry’s mind burst the vision of an emaciated old man lying in rags upon a stone floor, screaming, a horrible, drawn-out scream, a scream of unendurable agony…

“No! No! I beg you, I beg you…”

“You lied to Lord Voldemort, Ollivander!”  
“I did not… I swear I did not…”

“You sought to help Potter, to help him escape me!”

“I swear I did not… I believed a different wand would work…”

“Explain, then, what happened. Lucius’s wand is destroyed!”

“I cannot understand…The connection……exists only…between your two wands…”

“ _Lies!_ ”

“Please…I beg you…” A white hand raised and there was a surge of vicious anger. The man on the floor writhed in agony, and the Doctor pushed the force out of Harry’s head, then retracted himself. Harry was shaking in the darkness, staring at the Doctor.

The Doctor soon found himself, Harry, the ginger boy, and the frizzy-haired girl in the attic bedroom. “So, who are you?” The frizzy-haired girl asked,

“I’m the Doctor, and you?” She looked a bit taken aback,

“Hermione.”  
“And I’m Ron.” Said the ginger boy,

“Harry.” said Harry,

“But, where are you from?” Hermione asked,

“Oh, nowhere you would know,”

“I studied geography,” Hermione challenged,

“Gallifrey.” The Doctor said confidently, Hermione furrowed her eyebrows,

“Somewhere in Ireland?”

“Yeah, something like that.” The Doctor said, “So, who is this Ollivander?”

Harry repeated the vision to Ron and Hermione, and they stared at him, “Ollivander’s a wandmaker.” Harry explained,

“And Voldemort…”

“You don’t know who Voldemort is?” Hermione raised an eyebrow,

“Yeah, I’m a bit of a hermit to be honest,”

“He’s a mass murderer, killed my parents, he created Horcruxes to try and live forever and I’m going to try to destroy them.”

“How many have you destroyed, then?”

“Two.”

“And how many do we have left?”

“We?”

“Yes, _we_ ,” The Doctor said as if it were obvious, pulling out the psychic paper and waving it about, “I’m your protector, so how many?” Harry made a face,

“I don’t need your help.”

“Well, it’s a shame you’re getting it, then. How many?”

“Five.”

“Brilliant. We better get a move on, then.”

“We can’t.” Ron said,

“Why not?” The Doctor looked at him,

“Er, Bill and Fleur’s wedding. The want Harry to be there.” The Doctor nodded,

“When are we leaving, then?”

“ _I_ ’m leaving the day after.” Harry said, “ _You_ can leave now.”

“Well, I’m not leaving.”

“Fine.” Harry said, jumping on the bed, and flipping around, “But don’t be surprised if I leave without you.”


	3. The Wedding Preparations

“So, when _is_ the wedding?” the Doctor asked Hermione at breakfast the next morning,

“Five days.” Hermione said flatly,

“Brilliant. Five days. I can do five days.”

“What makes you think I’m going to let you come with me?” Harry demanded,

“Because I can help you, Harry.” The Doctor said,

“I don’t want your help.”

In the following days the Doctor noticed Harry, Ron, and Hermione packing and preparing to leave. “What are you doing with all these books anyway?” Ron asked Hermione a few days later as she sorted through textbooks,

“Just trying to decide which ones to take with us,” said Hermione. “When we’re looking for Horcruxes.”

“Oh, of course,” said Ron, clapping a hand to his forehead. “I forgot we’ll be hunting down Voldemort in a mobile library.”

“Oi, don’t underestimate the power of books!” The Doctor said, Ron rolled his eyes and Hermione grabbed another book called _Spellman’s Syllabary_ ,

“I wonder…will we need to translate runes?”

“No.” The Doctor said, “I’ll be able to read them,”

“And what makes you think that we’ll let you come with us?” Ron asked,

“Because, I’m Harry’s protector.” The Doctor emphasized the word ‘protective’, grinning, “And I’m certainly useful to have around.”

“And why’s that, then?” Hermione questioned,

“Oh, I’ve got my skills,”

“Listen all of you,” Harry said, “I know you all said you wanted to come with me,”

“Here he goes,” Ron said to Hermione,

“As we knew he would,” she sighed, turning back to the books. “You know, I think I _will_ take _Hogwarts, A History_. Even if we’re not going back there, I don’t think I’d feel right if I didn’t have it with –”  
“Listen!” Harry said again,

“No, Harry, _you_ listen,” said Hermione. “We’re coming with you. That was decided months ago – years, really.”

“But –”

“Shut up,” Ron advised him.

“–are you sure you’ve thought this through?” Harry persisted.

“Let’s see,” said Hermione, slamming _Travels with Trolls_ onto the discard pile with a rather fierce look. “I’ve been packing for days, so we’re ready to leave at a moment’s notice, which for your information has included doing some pretty difficult magic, not to mention smuggling Mad-Eye’s whole stock of Polyjuice Potion right under Ron’s mum’s nose.

“I’ve also modified my parents’ memories so that they’re convinced they’re really called Wendell and Monica Wilkins, and that their life’s ambition is to move to Australia, which they have now done. That’s to make it more difficult for Voldemort to track them down and interrogate them about me – or you, because unfortunately, I’ve told them quite a bit about you.

“Assuming I survive our hunt for Horcruxes, I’ll find Mum and Dad and lift the enchantment. If I don’t – well, I think I’ve cast a good enough charm to keep them safe and happy. Wendell and Monica Wilkins don’t know that they’ve got a daughter, you see.” Hermione’s eyes were swimming with tears.

“And what about him?” Ron asked, looking at the Doctor,

“ _He_ can hear you.” The Doctor said,

“He’s not coming.” Harry said,

“He is coming.” The Doctor said,

“Who even are you?” Harry asked,

“I’m the Doctor.” The Doctor said,

“To Dumbledore. Who were you to Dumbledore?”

“A very old friend.” The Doctor lied, Harry raised an eyebrow,

“Listen, I’m here to help. I’m going to help you whether you want me to or not.” Harry made a face, but didn’t continue.

Through the silence came the muffled sounds of Molly (whom the Doctor quickly found out was Ron’s mother and was to be called Mrs. Weasley) shouting from four floors below. “Ginny’s probably left a speck of dust on a poxy napkin ring,” said Ron. “I dunno why the Delacours have got to come two days before the wedding.”

“Fleur’s sister is a bridesmaid, she needs to be here for the rehearsal, and she’s too young to come on her own,” said Hermione, as she poured indecisively over _Break with a Banshee_.

“Well, guests aren’t going to help Mum’s stress levels,” said Ron.

“What we really need to decide,” said Hermione, tossing _Defensive Magical Theory_ into the bin without a second glance and picking up _An Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe,_ “is where we’re going after we leave here. I know you said you wanted to go to Godric’s Hollow first, Harry, and I understand why, but…well…shouldn’t we make the Horcruxes our priority?”

“If we knew where any of the Horcruxes were, I’d agree with you,” said Harry,

“Don’t you think there’s a possibility that Voldemort’s keeping a watch on Godric’s Hollow?” Hermione asked, “He might expect you to go back and visit your parents’ graves once you’re free to go wherever you like?” Harry seemed speechless for a moment, but Ron then spoke up,

“This R.A.B. person,” he said. “You know, the one who stole the real locket?” The Doctor gave an inquisitive glance at Ron, Hermione explained,

“One of the Horcruxes is the Slytherin locket, but when it was stolen, someone by the name of R.A.B. had gotten there first.” The Doctor nodded, “He said he was going to destroy it, didn’t he?” Hermione asked Ron and Harry. Harry pulled out a small locket and removed a note in which he read out,   
“ _I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can,_ ”

“Well, what if he _did_ finish it off?” said Ron,

“Or she,” interposed Hermione

“Whichever,” said Ron, “it’d be one less for us to do!”

“Yes, but we’re still going to have to try and trace the real locket aren’t we?” said Hermione, “to find out whether or not it’s destroyed.”

“And once we get hold of it, how _do_ you destroy a Horcrux?” asked Ron,

“Well,” said Hermione, “I’ve been researching that.”

“It’s container has to be destroyed beyond magical repair.” the Doctor said,

“How do you know?” Hermione asked accusingly,

“I know a whole lot more than you may think.”

The silent pause was shattered as the bedroom door flew open with a wall-shaking crash. Hermione shrieked and dropped _Secrets of the Darkett Art;_ Crookshanks, Hermione’s cat, streaked under the bed, hissing indignantly about humans’ disturbances; Ron jumped off the bed, skidded on a discarded Chocolate Frog wrapper, and smacked his head on the opposite wall; and Harry instinctively dived for his wand before realizing that he was looking up at Mrs. Weasley, whose hair was disheveled and whose face was contorted with rage.

“Sorry to break up this cozy little gathering,” she said, her voice trembling. “I’m sure you all need your rest…but there are wedding presents stacked in my room that need sorting out and I was under the impression that you had agreed to help.” The Doctor leapt off the bed, “No, no, you’re a guest –” Mrs. Weasley began, but the Doctor interrupted,

“I’m happy to help.” And promptly made his way to the bedroom, led by Ron, Harry, and Hermione.

The Delacours arrived the following morning at eleven o’clock. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny seemed quite resentful toward Fleur’s family by this time. They trooped out into the sunny backyard to await the visitors.

Mr. Weasley, Ron’s father, had gone to meet the Delacours on top of the nearby hill, where they were to arrive by Portkey. The first sound of their approach was an unusually high-pitched laugh, which turned out to be coming from Mr. Weasley, who appeared at the gate moments later, laden with luggage and leading a beautiful blonde woman in long, leaf-green robes, who could only be Fleur’s mother.

“Maman!” cried the young lady the Doctor had learned was Fleur, rushing forward to embrace her mother, “Papa!” Monsieur Delacour was a head shorter than his wife. He was extremely plump, with a little, pointed black beard. Bouncing toward Mrs. Weasley on high-heeled boots, he kissed her twice on each cheek, leaving her flustered.

“You ‘have been too much trouble,” he said in a deep voice. “Fleur, tells us you ‘ave been working very ‘ard.”

“Oh, it’s been nothing, nothing!” trilled Mrs. Weasley. “No trouble at all!”

“Dear lady!” said Monsieur Delacour, still holding Mrs. Weasley’s hand between his own and beaming, “We are most honored at the approaching union of our two families! Let me present my wife, Apolline.” Madame Delacour gilded forward and stopped to kiss Mrs. Weasley too.

“ _Enchantée,_ ” she said. “You ‘usband ‘as been telling us such amazing stories!” Mr. Weasley gave a maniacal laugh; Mrs. Weasley threw him a look, upon which he became immediately silent and assumed an expression appropriate to the sickbed of a close friend.

“And, of course, you ‘ave met my leetle daughter, Gabrielle!” said Monsieur Delacour. Gabrielle looked like a miniature version of Fleur, approximately eleven years old with waist-length hair of pure, silvery blonde. She have Mrs. Weasley a dazzling smile and hugged her, then threw Harry a glowing look, batting her eyelashes. Ginny cleared her throat loudly.

“Well, come in, do!” said Mrs. Weasley brightly, and she ushered the Delacours into the house, with many “No, please!”s and “After you!”s and “Not at all!”s.

The Delacours, it soon transpired, were helpful, pleasant guests. They were pleased with everything and keen to assist with the preparations for the wedding. Monsieur Delacour pronounced everything from the seating plan to the bridesmades’ shoes “ _Charmant!_ ” Madame Delacour was most accomplished at household spells and had the oven properly cleaned in a trice; Gabrielle followed her elder sister around, trying to assist in any way she could and jabbering away in rapid French.

On the downside, the house, the Doctor soon learned was affectionately called ‘the Burrow’, was not built to accommodate so many people. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were now sleeping in the sitting room, having shouted down Monsieur and Madame Delacour’s protests and insisted they take their bedroom. Gabrielle was sleeping with Fleur in Ron’s older brother Percy’s old room, and the groom, Bill, would be sharing with Charlie, his best man, once Charlie arrived from Romania. Opportunities to make plans together became virtually nonexistent, and it was in desperation that Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the Doctor took to volunteering to feed the chickens to escape the overcrowded house. “But she _still_ won’t leave us alone!” Ron complained, the Doctor was about to question what he meant, when Mrs. Weasley came hurrying into the yard carrying a large basket of laundry in her arms.

“Oh, good, you’ve fed the chickens!” she called as she approached them. “We’d better shut them away again before the men arrive tomorrow…to put up the tent for the wedding,” she explained, pausing to lean against the henhouse, She looked exhausted. “Milamant’s Magic Marquees…they’re very good, Bill’s escorting them…You’d better stay inside while they’re here, Harry. I must say it does complicate organizing a wedding, having all these security spells around the place.”

“I’m sorry,” said Harry humbly.

“Oh, don’t be silly, dear!” said Mrs. Weasley at once. “I didn’t mean – well, your safety’s much more important! Actually, I’ve been waiting to ask you how you want to celebrate your birthday, Harry. Seventeen, after all, it’s an important day…”

“I don’t want a fuss,” said Harry quickly, envisaging the additional strain this would put them all. “Really, Mrs. Weasley, just a normal dinner would be fine…It’s the day before the wedding…”

“Oh, well, if you’re sure, dear. I’ll invite Remus and Tonks, shall I? And how about Hagrid?”

“That’d be great,” said Harry. “But please don’t go to loads of trouble.”

“Not at all, not at all…It’s no trouble…” She looked at him, a long, searching look, then smiled a little sadly, straightened up, and walked away.


	4. The Will of Albus Dumbledore

The Doctor sat in his bed, listening to the breathing of Harry and Ron. They were just kids, much too young to be fighting in this wizarding war…Suddenly, Harry began to mutter, “Gregorovitch…Gregorovitch…” Ron slowly opened his eyes, “Gregorovitch…” Harry said again,

“Oi, wake up.” Ron said sleepily, “You were muttering in your sleep.”

“Was I?” Harry asked,

“Yeah. ‘Gregorovitch.’ You kept saying ‘Gregorovitch.’”

“Who’s Gregovich?”

“He’s a wandmaker…” The Doctor said,

“I think Voldemort’s looking for him.” Harry said, “If he’s a wandmaker, then that makes sense.”

“Poor bloke,” said Ron fevently, “Anyway, happy birthday.”

“Wow – that’s right, I forgot! I’m seventeen!” Harry said, seizing the wand laying beside his bed. Pointing at the cluttered desk where he had left his glasses, he said, “ _Accio Glasses!_ ” They flew over to him, promptly poking him in the eye.

“Slick.” snorted Ron. “Here’s your present. Unwrap it up here, it’s not for my mother’s eyes.” He handed Harry a rectangular parcel.

“A book?” said Harry, “Bit of departure from tradition, isn’t it?”

“This isn’t your average book,” said Ron. “It’s pure gold: _Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches_. Explains everything you need to know about girls.” The Doctor snorted in amusement, Ron shot him a look, but continued anyway, “I would have loved to have this last year. I’d have known exactly how to get rid of Lavender and I would’ve known how to get going with… Well, Fred and George gave me a copy, and I’ve learned a lot. You’d be surprised, it’s not all about wandwork, either.”

When they arrived in the kitchen, they found a pile of presents waiting on the table. Bill and Monsieur Delacour were finishing their breakfasts, while Mrs. Weasley stood chatting to them over the frying pan. “Arthur told me to wish you a happy seventeenth, Harry,” said Mrs. Weasley, beaming at him. “He had to leave early for work, but he’ll be back for dinner. That’s our present on top.”

That evening, Harry had a large birthday dinner. Awaiting Mr. Weasley, it looked to be a relatively normal and domestic festive affair, until a streak of light came flying across the yard and onto the table, where it resolved itself into a bright silver weasel, which stood on its hind legs and spoke with Mr. Weasley’s voice: “Minister of Magic coming with me.” The weasel dissolved into thin air, leaving Fleur’s family peering in astonishment at the place where it had vanished.

“We shouldn’t be here,” said the scratched up man, whom the Doctor had learned was called Remus Lupin, “Harry – I’m sorry – I’ll explain another time –” He seized the woman with vibrant (and ever changing) coloured hair whom was called Tonks, by the wrist and pulled her away; they reached the fence, climbed over it, and vanished from sight. Mrs. Weasley looked bewildered.

“The Minister – but why – ? I don’t understand –” But there was no time to discuss the matter; a second later, Mr. Weasley had appeared out of thin air at the gate, accompanied by who could only be Rufus Scrimgeour, the Minister of Magic.

The two newcomers marched across the yard toward the garden and the lantern-lit table, where everybody sat in silence, watching them draw closer. “Sorry to intrude,” said Rufus Scrimgeour as he limped to a halt before the table. “Especially as I can see that I am gate-crashing a party.” His eyes lingered for a moment on the large cake that happened to be in the shape of a Snitch, from what the Doctor had heard, was a ball from the popular wizarding sport of Quidditch. “Many happy returns.”

“Thanks,” said Harry.

“I require a private word with you,” Scrimgeour went on. “Also with Mr. Ronald Weasley and Miss Hermione Granger.”

“Us?” said Ron, sounding surprised. “Why us?”

“I shall tell you that when we are somewhere more private.” said Scrimgeour. “Is there such a place?” he demanded of Mr. Weasley.

“Yes, of course,” said Mr. Weasley, who looked nervous. “The, er, sitting room, why don’t you use that?”

“You can lead the way,” Scrimgeour said to Ron. “There will be no need for you to accompany us, Arthur.” The Doctor watched as Harry, Ron, and Hermione made their way to the sitting room. They Doctor slipped into the next room, listening intently:

“I have some questions for the three of you, and I think it will be best if we do it individually. If you two can wait upstairs, I will start with Ronald.” Scrimgeour was saying,

“We’re not going anywhere,” said Harry, “You can speak to us together, or not at all.” THere was a long silence before Scrimgeour said,

“Very well then, together.” He cleared his throat, “I am here, as I’m sure you know, because of Albus Dumbledore’s will.” There was a pause, then, “A surprise, apparently! You were not aware, then, that Dumbledore had left you anything?”

“A-all of us?” said Ron. “Me and Hermione too?”

“Yes, all of –”

“Dumbledore died over a month ago.” Harry interrupted, “Why has it taken this long to give us what he left us?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” said Hermione before Scrimgeour could answer. “They wanted to examine whatever he left us. You had no right to do that!” She said, and her voice trembled slightly.

“I had every right,” said Scrimgeour dismissively. “The Decree for Justifiable Confiscation gives the Ministry the power to confiscate the contents of a will –”

“That law was created to stop wizards passing on Dark artifacts,” said Hermione, “and the Ministry is supposed to have powerful evidence that the deceased’s possessions are illegal before seizing them! Are you telling me that you thought Dumbledore was trying to pass us something cursed?”

“Are you planning to follow a career in Magical Law, Miss Granger?” asked Scrimgeour.

“No, I’m not,” retorted Hermione. “I’m hoping to do some good in the world!” The Doctor smirked from behind the wall and heard Ron laugh,

“So why have you decided to let us have our things now? Can’t think of a pretext to keep them?” Harry asked,

“No, it’ll be because the thirty-one days are up,” said Hermione at once. “They can’t keep the objects longer than that unless they can prove they’re dangerous. Right?”

“Would you say you were close to Dumbledore, Ronald?” asked Scrimgeour, ignoring Hermione.

“Me? Not – not really…It was always Harry who…” There was a long pause,

“If you were not very close to Dumbledore, how do you account for the fact that he remembered you in his will? He made exceptionally few personal bequests. The vast majority of his possessions – his private library, his magical instruments, and other personal effects – were left at Hogwarts. Why do you think you were singled out?”

“I…dunno,” said Ron. “I…when I say we weren’t close…I mean, I think he liked me…”

“You’re being modest, Ron,” said Hermione. “Dumbledore was very fond of you.” There was a sound of shifting papers and Scrimgeour read aloud.

“‘ _The Last Will and Testament of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore’_ …Yes, here we are…’ _To Ronald Bilius Weasley, I leave my Deluminator, in the hope that he will remember me when he uses it._ ’” There was a rustling, and Scrimgeour continued, “That is a valuable object. It may be unique. Certainly it is of Dumbledore’s own design. Why would he have left you an item so rare?” There was a silence that the Doctor interpreted as a shaking or nodding of a head. “Dumbledore must have taught thousands of students,” Scrimgeour persevered. “Yet the only ones he remembered in his will are you three. Why is that? To what use did he think you would put his Deluminator, Mr. Weasley?”

“To put out lights, I s’pose,” mumbled Ron. “What else could I do with it?” There was a short silence, then Scrimgeour read out once more,

“‘ _To Miss Hermione Jean Granger, I leave my copy of_ The Tales of Beedle the Bard, _in hope that she will find it entertaining and instructive_.’” There was another rustling, then Scrimgeour asked, “Why do you think Dumbledore left you that book, Miss Granger?”

“He…he knew I liked books,” said Hermione in a thick voice,

“But why this particular book?”  
“I don’t know. He must have thought I’d enjoy it.”

“Did you ever discuss codes, or any means of passing secret messages, with Dumbledore?”  
“No, I didn’t,” said Hermione, “And if the Ministry hasn’t found any hidden codes in this book in thirty-one days, I doubt that I will.”

“‘ _To Harry James Potter,_ ’” Scrimgeour read again, “‘ _I leave the Snitch he caught in his first Quidditch match at Hogwarts, as a reminder of the rewards of perseverance and skill._ ’ Why did Dumbledore leave you this Snitch?”

“No idea,” said Harry. “For the reasons you just read out, I suppose…to remind me what you can get if you…persevere and whatever it was.”

“You think this a mere symbolic keepsake, then?”

“I suppose so,” said Harry. “What else could it be?”

“I’m asking the questions,” said Scrimgeour, “I notice that your birthday cake is in the shape of a Snitch. Why is that?” Hermione laughed derisively.

“Oh, it can’t be a reference to the fact Harry’s a great Seeker, that’s way too obvious,” she said. “THere must be a secret message from Dumbledore hidden in the icing!”

“I don’t think there’s anything hidden in the icing,” said Scrimgeour, “but a Snitch would be a very good hiding place for a small object. You know why, I’m sure?”

“Because Snitches have flesh memories,” said Hermione,

“What?” said Harry and Ron together,

“Correct,” said Scrimgeour. “A Snitch is not touched by bare skin before it is released, not even by the maker, who wears gloves. It carries an enchantment by which it can identify the first human to lay hands upon it, in case of a disputed capture. This Snitch will remember your touch, Potter. It occurs to me that Dumbledore, who had prodigious magical skill, whatever his other faults, might have enhanced this Snitch so that it will open only for you.” There was a silence, “You don’t say anything,” said Scrimgeour. “Perhaps you already know what the Snitch contains?”

“No,” said Harry,

“Take it,” said Scrimgeour quietly. There was a tense silence, when finally Harry said,

“That was dramatic.” Clearly nothing had happened, and both Ron and Hermione laughed.

“That’s all, then, is it?” asked Hermione,

“Not quite,” said Scrimgeour, who sounded as if he were bad-tempered now. “Dumbledore left you a second bequest, Potter.”

“What is it?” asked Harry. Scrimgeour did not bother to read from the will this time.

“The sword of Godric Gryffindor,” he said.

“So where is it?” Harry asked suspiciously.

“Unfortunately,” said Scrimgeour, “that sword was not Dumbledore’s to give away. The sword of Godric Gryffindor is an important historical artifact, and as such, belongs –”

“It belongs to Harry!” said Hermione hotly. “It chose him, he was the one who found it, it came to him out of the Sorting Hat –”

“According to reliable historical sources, the sword may present itself to any worthy Gryffindor,” said Scrimgeour. “That does not make it the exclusive property of Mr. Potter, whatever Dumbledore may have decided. Why do you think –”

“– Dumbledore wanted to give me the sword?” said Harry, clearly struggling to keep his temper. “Maybe he thought it would look nice on my wall.”

“This is not a joke, Potter!” growled Scrimgeour. “Was it because Dumbledore believed that only the sword of Godric Gryffindor could defeat the Heir of Slytherin? Did he wish to give you that sword, Potter, because he believed, as do many, that you are the one destined to destroy He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?”

“Interesting theory,” said Harry. “Has anyone ever tried sticking a sword in Voldemort? Maybe the Ministry should put some people onto that, instead of wasting their time stripping down Deluminators or covering up breakouts from Azkaban. So is this what you’ve been doing, Minister, shut up in your office, trying to break open a Snitch? People are dying – I was nearly one of them – Voldemort chased me across three countries, he killed Mad-Eye Moody, but there’s been no word about any of that from the Ministry, has there? And you still expect us to cooperate with you!”

“You go too far!” shouted Scrimgeour, the Doctor heard his footsteps storm up towards Harry, the Doctor pushed the door open, his wand pointed at the Minister,

“Step back.” The Doctor demanded,

“Who are you?” Scrimgeour demanded, the Doctor flashed his Psychic Paper,

“John Smith, Harry’s protector.” Scrimgeour took a step back, clearly noting some reference or certification.

“I…regret your attitude,” he said to Harry, “You seem to think that the Ministry does not desire what you – what Dumbledore – desired. We ought to be working together.”

“I don’t like your methods, Minister,” said Harry. Scrimgeour’s expression hardened. He turned away without another word and limped from the room. Mrs. Weasley hurried after him; the Doctor heard her stop at the back door. After a minute or so she called,

“He’s gone!”

“What did he want?” Mr. Weasley asked, entering the room,

“To give us what Dumbledore left us,” said Harry. “They’ve only just released the contents of his will.”

Outside in the garden, over the dinner tables, the three objects Scrimgeour had given Harry, Ron, and Hermione were passed from hand to hand. Everyone exclaimed over the Deluminator and _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ and lamented over the fact that Scrimgeour had refused to pass on the sword, but none of them could offer any suggestion as to why Dumbledore would have left Harry an old Snitch. As Mr. Weasley examined the Deluminator for the third or fourth time, Mrs. Weasley said tentatively, “Harry, dear, everyone’s awfully hungry, we didn’t like to start without you…Shall I serve dinner now?”

They all ate rather hurriedly and then, after a hasty chorus of “Happy Birthday” and much gulping of cake, the party broke up. Hagrid, the half-giant, who was invited to the wedding the following day, but was far too bulky to sleep in the overstretched Burrow, left to set up a tent for himself in a neighboring field. “Meet us upstairs,” the Doctor heard Harry whisper to Hermione while they helped Mrs. Weasley restore the garden to its normal state. “After everyone’s gone to bed.”

Up in the attic room, Ron examined his Deluminator, and Harry was filling a mokeskin purse. At last, Hermione tapped on the door and tiptoed inside. “ _Muffliato_ ,” she whispered, waving her wand in the direction of the stairs.

“Thought you didn’t approve of that spell?” said Ron.

“Times change,” said Hermione. “Now, show us that Deluminator.” Ron obliged at once. Holding it up in front of him, he clicked it. The solitary lamp they had lit went out at once. “The thing is,” whispered Hermione through the dark, “we could have achieved that with Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder.”

There was a small _click_ , and the ball of light from the lamp flew back to the ceiling and illuminated them all once more. “Still, it’s cool,” said Ron, a little defensively. “And from what they said, Dumbledore invented it himself!”

“I know, but surely he wouldn’t have singled you out in his will just to help us turn out the lights!”

“D’you think he knew the Ministry would confiscate his will and examine everything he’d left us?” asked Harry.

“Definitely,” said Hermione. “He couldn’t tell us in the will why he was leaving us these things, but that still doesn’t explain…”

“…why he couldn’t have given us a hint when he was alive?” asked Ron.

“Well, exactly,” said Hermione, now flicking through _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_. “If these things are important enough to pass on right under the nose of the Ministry, you’d think he’d have let us know why…unless he thought it was obvious?”

“Thought wrong, then, didn’t he?” said Ron. “I always said he was mental. Brilliant and everything, but cracked. Leaving Harry an old Snitch – what the hell was that about.” The Doctor jumped from his bed, pulling out his Sonic Screwdriver,

“What is _that?_ ” Hermione asked,

“Sonic Screwdriver.”

“What?”

“Sonic Screwdriver.” The Doctor repeated, scanning the Snitch, “Oh, clever, that’s very clever. Harry, the initial residue on this Snitch is not a flesh reading, it’s a saliva reading.” Harry’s eyes widened,

“Harry,” Hermione said, “That first Snitch you caught, you didn’t catch it with your hands, did you?”

“That was the one you nearly swallowed!” Ron gasped. Harry lifted the Snitch slowly to his mouth and pressed it.

“Writing! There’s writing on it, quick, look!” Hermione gasped. Harry nearly dropped the Snitch in surprise and excitement, for engraved upon the smooth golden surface was a swift, curly handwriting.

_I open at the close._

 

The words then vanished. “‘I open at the close…’ What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry asked, “I open at the close…at the _close_ …I open at the close…” But no matter how often they repeated the words, with many different inflections, they were unable to wring any more meaning from them.

“And the sword,” said Ron finally, when they had at last abandoned their attempts to diving meaning in the Snitch’s inscription. “Why did he want Harry to have the sword?”

“Because the Sword of Godric Gryffindor could potentially destroy a Horcrux.” The Doctor said, causing Harry, Ron, and Hermione to turn to him,

“Why couldn’t he have just told me?” Harry said quietly. “It was _there_ , it was right there on the wall of his office during all our talks last year! If he wanted me to have it, why didn’t he just give it to me then?”

“As for this book,” said Hermione, “ _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ …I’ve never even heard of them!”

“You’ve never heard of _The Tales of Beedle the Bard?_ ” said Ron incredulously. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No, I’m not!” said Hermione in surprise. “Do you know them, then?”

“Well, of course I do!”

“Oh come on!” Ron said, “All the old kids stories are supposed to be Beedle’s aren’t they? ‘The Fountain of Fair Fortune’…’The Wizard and the Hopping Pot’…’Babbity Rabbity and her Cackling Stump’…” The Doctor grinned, human bedtime stories were always so strange.

“Excuse me?” said Hermione, giggling. “What was that last one?”

“ Come off it!” said Ron, looking in disbelief from Harry to Hermione. “You must’ve heard of Babbity Rabbity –”

“Ron, you know full well Harry and I were brought up by Muggles!” said Hermione. “We didn’t hear stories like that when we were little, we heard ‘Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs’ and ‘Cinderella’ –”

“What about you, Doctor, surely you’ve heard of Babbity Rabbity.”

“Sorry Ron.”

“Not even you?”

“So these are children’s stories?” asked Hermione, bending again over the runes.

“Yeah,” said Ron uncertainly, “I mean, that’s just what you hear, you know, that all these old stories came from Beedle. I dunno what they’re like in the original versions.”

“But I wonder why Dumbledore thought I should read them?”

Something creaked downstairs.

“Probably just Charlie, now Mum’s asleep, sneaking off to regrow his hair,” said Ron nervously.

“All the same, we should get to bed,” whispered Hermione. “It wouldn’t do to oversleep tomorrow.”

“No,” agreed Ron. “A brutal triple murder by the bridegroom’s mother might put a bit of a damper on the wedding. I’ll get the lights.” And he clicked the Deluminator once more as Hermione left the room.


	5. The Wedding

Three o’clock on the following afternoon found the Doctor, Harry, Ron, Fred, and George standing outside the great white marquee in the orchard, awaiting the arrival of the wedding guests. Fred and George were Ron’s twin brothers, though George had recently lost an ear. Harry had taken a large dose of Polyjuice Potion, a potion that disguised him as a redheaded Muggle boy from the local village. He was to be introduced =-as “Cousin Barny” and trust the great number of redheaded relatives to camoflauge him.

All five of them were clutching seating plans, so that they could help show people the right seats. A host of white-robed waiters had arrived an hour earlier, along with a golden-jacketed band, and all of these wizards were currently sitting a short distance away under a tree; The Doctor could see a blue haze of pipe smoke issuing from the spot.

Behind the Doctor, the entrance to the marquee revealed rows and rows of fragile golden chairs set on either side of a long purple carpet. The supporting poles were entwined with white and gold flowers. Fred and George had fastened an enormous bunch of golden balloons over the exact point where Bill and Fleur would shortly become husband and wife. Outside, butterflies and bees were hovering lazily over the grass and hedgerow.

“When I get married,” said Fred, tugging at the collar of his own robes, “I won’t be bothering with any of this nonsense. You can wear what you like, and I’ll put a full Body-Bind Curse on Mum until it’s all over.”

“She wasn’t too bad this morning, considering,” said George. “Cried a bit about Percy not being here, but who wants him? Oh blimey, brace yourselves – here they come, look.”

Brightly coloured figures were appearing, one by one, out of nowhere at the distant boundary of the yard. Within minutes a procession had formed, which began to snake its way up through the garden toward the marquee. Exotic flowers and bewitched birds fluttered on the witches’ hats, while precious gems glittered from many of the wizards’ cravats; a hum of excited chatter grew louder and louder, drowning the sound of the bees as the crowd approached the tent. “Excellent, I think I see a few veela cousins,” said George, craning his neck for a better look. “They’ll need help understanding our English customs, I’ll look after them…”

“Not so fast, Your Holeyness,” said Fred, and darting pasted the gaggle of middle-aged witches heading the procession, he said, “Here – _permettez-moi_ to _assister vous_ ,” to a  pair of pretty French girls, who giggled and allowed him to escort them inside. George was left to deal with the middle-aged witches and Ron took charge of Mr. Weasley’s old Ministry colleague Perkins, while a rather deaf old couple falling into the Doctor’s and Harry’s lot.

The Doctor, Harry, and Ron soon met up with Hermione. She was wearing a floaty, lilac-coloured dress and matching high heels; her hair was sleek and shiny. “You look great!” Ron said as Hermione approached,

“Your Great-Aunt Muriel doesn’t agree,” Hermione said, “I just met her upstairs while she was giving Fleur the tiara. ‘Oh dear, is this the Muggle-born?’ and then ‘Bad posture and skinny ankles.’”

“Don’t take it personally, she’s rude to everyone.” said Ron,

“Talking about Muriel?” inquired George, reemerging from the marquee with Fred. “Yeah, she’s just told me my ears are lopsided. Old bat. I wish old Uncle Bilius was still with us, though; he was a right laugh at weddings.”

“Wasn’t he the one who saw a Grim and died twenty-four hours later?” Asked Hermione,

“Well, yeah, he went a bit odd toward the end,” conceded George.

“But before he went all loopy he was the life and soul of the party,” said Fred. “He used to down an entire bottle of firewhisky, then run onto the dance floor, hoist up his robes, and start pulling bunches of flowers out of his –”

“Yes, he sounds a real charmer,” said Hermione, the Doctor grinned,

“Never married, for some reason,” said Ron.

“You amaze me,” said Hermione.

Suddenly, the Doctor noticed a dark-haired young man with a large, curved nose and thick black eyebrows. He locked eyes with Hermione, “You look vunderful.”

“Viktor!” Hermione shrieked, and dropped her small beaded bag, which landed with a large thump that was quite disproportionate to its size. As she scrambled, blushing, to pick it up, she said, “I didn’t know you were – goodness – it’s lovely to see – how are you?”

Ron’s ears had turned bright red. After glancing at Viktor’s invitation as if he did not believe a word of it, he said, much too loudly, “How come you’re here?”

“Fleur invited me,” said Viktor, eyebrows raised. Harry shook Viktor’s hand, then offered him a seat. “Your friend does not seem pleased to see me,” Viktor said as they entered the now packed marquee. “Or is he a relative?” he added with a glance at Harry’s red curly hair.

“Cousin,” Harry muttered, Viktor turned to the Doctor, who was following them,

“And who are you?”

“John Smith,” The Doctor said, “Friend.”

“Ah.” He said, though he wasn’t really listening. His appearance was causing a stir, clearly he was an important wizard. While people were still craning their necks to get a good look at him, Ron, Hermione, Fred, and George came hurrying down the aisle.

“Time to sit down,” Fred said, “or we’re going to get run over by the bride.” The Doctor, Harry, Ron, and Hermione took their seats in the second row behind Fred and George. Hermione looked rather pink and Ron’s ears were still scarlet.

A sense of jittery anticipation had filled the warm tent, the general murmuring broken by occasional spurts of excited laughter. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley strolled up the aisle, smiling and waving at relatives; Mrs. Weasley was wearing a brand-new set of amethyst coloured robes with a matching hat.

A moment later Bill and Charlie stood up at the front of the marquee, both wearing dress robes, with large white roses in their buttonholes; Fred wolf-whistled and there was an outbreak of giggling from the veela cousins. Then the crowd fell silent as music swelled from what seemed to be golden balloons.

“Ooooh!” said Hermione, swiveling around in her seat to look at the entrance.

A great collective sigh issued from the assembled witches and wizards as Monsieur Delacour and Fleur came walking up the aisle, Fleur gliding. Monsieur Delacour bouncing and beaming. Fleur was wearing a very simple white dress and seemed to be emitting a strong, silvery glow. While her radiance unusually dimmed everyone else by comparison, today it beautified everybody it fell upon. Ginny and Gabrielle, both wearing golden dresses, looked even prettier than usual.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” said a slightly singsong voice. Standing in front of Bill and Fleur was a short, tufty-haired wizard, “We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of two faithful souls…”

“Yes, my tiara sets off the whole thing nicely,” said Muriel in a rather carrying whisper. “But I must say, Ginevra’s dress is far too low cut.”

“Do you, William Arthur, take Fleur Isabelle…?” In the front row, Mrs. Weasley and Madame Delacour were both sobbing quietly into scraps of lace. Hermione turned and beamed at Harry; her eyes too were full of tears.

“…then I declare you bonded for life.”

The tufty-haired wizard waved his wand high over the heads of Bill and Fleur and a shower of silver stars fell upon them, spiraling around their now entwined figures. As Fred and George led a round of applause, the golden balloons overhead burst: Birds of paradise and tiny golden bells flew nad floated out of them, adding their songs and chimes to the din. “Ladies and gentlemen!” called the tufty-haired wizard. “If you would please stand up!” They all did so, Muriel grumbling audiby; he waved his wand again. The seats on which they had been sitting rose gracefully into the air as the canvas walls of the marquee vanished, so that they stood beneath a canopy supported by golden poles, with a glorious view of the sunlit orchard and surrounding countryside. Next, a pool of molten gold spread from the center of the tent to form a gleaming dance floor; the hovering chairs grouped themselves back to earth around it, and the golden jacketed band trooped toward the podium.

“Smooth,” said Ron approvingly as the waiters popped up on all sides, some bearing silver trays of different drinks, others tottering piles of tarts and sandwiches.

“We should go congratulate them!” said Hermione, standing on tiptoe to see the place where Bill and Fleur had vanished amid a crowd of well-wishers.

“We’ll have time later,” shrugged Ron, snatching three drinks from a passing tray and handing one to Harry and one to Hermione. “Come on, let’s grab a table,” Ron said, leading the way across the empty dance floor, glancing left and right as he went. By the time they had reached the other side of the marquee, most of the tables were occupied: the emptiest was the one where a young, blond girl in bright yellow dress robes, which she had accessorized with a large sunflower in her hair. “Hey, Luna, alright if we join you?” asked Ron,

“Oh yes,” she said happily. “Daddy’s just gone to give Bill and Fleur our present.”

The band had begun to play. Bill and Fleur took to the dance floor first, to great applause; after a while, Mr. Weasley led Madame Delacour onto the floor, followed by Mrs. Weasley and Fleur’s father. “I like this song,” said Luna, swaying in time to the waltzlike tune, and a few seconds later, she stood up and glided onto the dance floor, where she revolved on the spot, quite alone, eyes closed and waving her arms.

“She’s great, isn’t she?” said Ron admiringly. “Always good value.” But the smile vanished from his face at once: Viktor had dropped into Luna’s vacant seat. Hermione looked pleasurably flustered, but this time Viktor had not come to compliment her. With a scowl on his face he said, “Who is that man in the yellow?”

“That’s Xenophilius Lovegood, he’s the father of a friend of ours,” said Ron. “come dance,” he added abruptly to Hermione.

“Ah, they are together now?” asked Viktor, momentarily distracted.

“Er – sort of,” said Harry,

“Who are you?” he asked again to Harry and the Doctor,

“Barny Weasley,” said Harry,

“John Smith.” The Doctor said, they each shook hands.

“Do you know this man Lovegood vell?”

“I’ve never met him,” the Doctor said,

“No, I only met him today. Why?” Harry responded. Viktor glowered over the top of his drink, watching Xenophilius, who was chatting to several warlocks on the other side of the dance floor.

“Because if he vos not a guest of Fleur’s, I would duel him, here and now, for vearing that filthy sign upon his chest.”

“Sign?” both Harry and the Doctor looked at Xenophilius, the strange triangular eye was gleaming on his chest. “Why? What’s wrong with it?”

“Grindelvald. That is Grindelvald's sign.”

“Grindelwald…the Dark wizard Dumbledore defeated?” Harry asked,

“Exactly.” Viktor’s jaw muscles worked as if he were chewing, then he said, “Grindelvald killed many people, my grandfather for instance. Of course, he vos never poverful in this country, they said he feared Dumbledore – and rightly, seeing how he vos finished. But this” – he pointed a picture at Xenophilius – “this is his symbol, I recognized it at vunce: Grindelvald carved it into a vall at Durmstrange ven he vos a pupil there. Some idiots copied it onto their books and clothes, thinking to shock, make themselves impressive – until those of us who had lost family members to Grindelvald taught them better.” Viktor cracked his knuckles menacingly and glowered at Xenophilius. Harry looked perplexed,

“Are you – er – quite sure it’s Grindelwald’s – ?”

“I am not mistaken,” said Viktor coldly. “I valked past that sign for several years, I know it vell.”

“Well, there’s a chance,” said Harry, “that Xenophilius doesn’t actually know what the symbol means. The Lovegoods are quite… unusual. He could easily have picked it up somewhere and think it’s a cross section of the head of a Crumple-Horned Snorkack or something.”

“A cross section of vot?”

“It’s a magical creature that lives in Sweden. Brilliant hiders, very territorial.” The Doctor said,

“What?” Harry stared at the Doctor. “Er, anyway, that’s her,” he pointed at Luna, who was still waving her arms around her head like someone attempting to beat off midges,  
“Vy is she doing that?” asked Viktor.

“Probably trying to get rid of a Wrackspurt,” said Harry.

Viktor did not seem to know whether or not Harry was making fun of him. He looked around, then pointed at Ginny, “She is also a relative of yours?”

“Yeah,” said Harry, suddenly sounding irritated, “and she’s seeing someone. Jealous type. Big bloke. You wouldn’t want to cross him.” The Doctor held back a laugh as Viktor grunted,

“Vot,” he said, draining his goblet and getting to his feet again, “is the point of being an international Quidditch player if all the good-looking girls are taken?” He strode off, the Doctor raised an eyebrow at Harry, who turned red and looked away.

Wandering through the crowd so as to escape a drunken uncle of Ron’s who seemed unsure whether or not Harry was his son, the Doctor followed Harry towards an old wizard sitting alone at a table. He was wearing a fez, making the Doctor smile. Harry approached him,

“May I sit down?” Harry asked, the Doctor lingered nearby, observing.

“Of course, of course,” said the man; he had a rather high-pitched, wheezy voice. Harry leaned in.

“Mr. Doge, I’m Harry Potter.” Doge gasped,

“My dear boy! Arthur told me you were here, disguised…I am so glad, so honored!” In a flutter of nervous pleasure, Doge poured Harry a goblet of champagne. “I thought of writing you,” he whispered, “after Dumbledore…the shock…and for you, I’m sure…” Doge’s eyes filled with sudden tears.

“I saw the obituary you wrote for the _Daily Prophet_ ,” said Harry. “I didn’t realize you knew Professor Dumbledore so well.”

“As well as anyone,” said Doge, dabbing his eyes with a napkin. “Certainly I knew him longest, if you don’t count Aberforth – and somehow, people never _do_ seem to count Aberforth.”

“Speaking of the _Daily Prophet_ …I don’t know whether you saw, Mr. Doge –”

“Oh, please call me Elphias, dear boy.”

“Elphias, I don’t know whether you saw the interview Rita Skeeter gave about Dumbledore?” Doge’s face flooded with angry colour.

“Oh yes, Harry, I saw it. That woman, or vulture might be a more accurate term, positively pestered me to talk to her. I am ashamed to say that I became rather rude, called her an interfering trout, which resulted, as you may have seen, in aspersions cast upon my sanity.”

“Well, in that interview,” Harry went on, “Rita Skeeter hinted that Professor Dumbledore was involved in the Dark Arts when he was young.”

“Don’t believe a word of it!” said Doge at once. “Not a word, Harry! Let nothing tarnish your memories of Albus Dumbledore!” Harry hesitated, so Doge went on, “Harry, Rita Skeeter is a dreadful –” but he was interrupted by a shrill cackle.

“Rita Skeeter? Oh, I love her, always read her!” Harry, Doge, and the Doctor looked up to see Muriel standing there, the plumes dancing on her hat, the goblet of champagne in her hand. “She’s written a book about Dumbledore, you know!”

“Hello, Muriel,” said Doge. “Yes, we were just discussing –”

“You there! Give me your chair, I’m a hundred and seven!” The Doctor jumped out of his seat and pushed it towards her. Muriel swung it around with surprising strength and plopped herself down upon it between Doge and Harry. “Hello again, Barry, or whatever your name is,” she said to Harry. “Now, what were you saying about Rita Skeeter, Elphias? You know she’s written a biography of Dumbledore? I can’t wait to read it, I must remember to place an order at Flourish and Blotts!”

Doge looked stiff and solemn at this, but Muriel drained her goblet and clocked her bony fingers at a passing waiter for a replacement. She took another large gulp of champagne, belched, and then said, “There’s no need to look like a pair of stuffed frogs! Before he became so respected and respectable and that tosh, there were some mighty funny rumors about Albus!”

“Ill-informed sniping,” said Doge, turning radish-coloured.

“You would say that, Elphias,” cackled Muriel. “I noticed how you skated over the sticky patches in that obituary of yours!”

“I’m sorry you think so,” said Doge, more coldly still. “I assure you I was writing from the heart.”

“Oh, we all know you worshipped Dumbledore; I daresay you’ll still think he was a saint even if it does turn out that he did away with his Squib sister!”

“ _Muriel!_ ” Exclaimed Doge.

“What do you mean?” Harry asked Muriel innocently, “WHo said his sister was a Squib? I thought she was ill?”

“Thought wrong, then, didn’t you, Barry!” said Muriel, looking delighted at the effect she had produced. “Anyway, how could you expect to know anything about it? It all happened years and years before you were even thought of, my dear, and the truth is that those of us who were alive then never knew what really happened. That’s why I can’t wait to find out what Skeeter’s unearthed! Dumbledore kept that sister of his quiet for a long time!”

“Untrue!” wheezed Doge. “Absolutely untrue!”

They continued to bicker as the Doctor wracked his brain for what he knew about Albus Dumbledore. He was a Transfiguration Professor turned Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Supreme Mugwump, Chief Warlock. He was famous for his defeat of Gellert Grindelwald, and the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon’s blood and his work on alchemy with Nicholas Flamel. He was a half-blood, his father, Percival, died in a wizarding prison, his mother, Kendra, and sister, Ariana, were later both killed, and his brother, Aberforth, worked in a pub called the Hog’s Head, though other than that he didn’t know much…

“Bathilda would never talk to Rita Skeeter!” Doge was whispering as the Doctor turned back into the conversation,

“Bathilda Bagshot?” Harry said, “The author of _A History of Magic_?”

“Yes,” said Doge, “A most gifted magical historian and an old friend of Albus’s.”

“Quite gaga these days, I’ve heard,” said Muriel cheerfully.

“If that is so, it is even more dishonorable for Skeeter to have taken advantage of her,” said Doge, “and no reliance can be placed on anything Bathilda may have said!”

“Oh, there are ways of bringing back memories, and I’m sure Rita Skeeter knows them all,” said Muriel. “But even if Bathilda’s completely cuckoo, I’m sure she’d still have old photographs, maybe even letters. She knew the Dumbledores for years…Well worth a trip to Godric’s Hollow, I’d have thought.”

Harry, who had been taking a sip of butterbeer, choked. Doge banged him on the back as Harry coughed, looking at Muriel through streaming eyes. Once he had control of his voice again, he asked, “Bathilda Bagshot lives in Godric’s Hollow?”

“Yes, Barry, that’s what I just said,” said Muriel testily. Hermione appeared out of the crowd, drawing up a chair between Harry and the Doctor.

“I simply can’t dance anymore,” she panted, slipping off one of her shoes and rubbing the sole of her foot. “Ron’s gone looking to find more butterbeers. It’s a bit odd, I’ve just seen Viktor storming away from Luna’s father, it looked like they’d been arguing –” She dropped her voice, staring at him. “Harry, are you okay?”

Harry opened his mouth, but at that moment, something large and silver came falling through the canopy over the dance floor. Graceful and gleaming, the lynx landed lightly in the middle of the astonished dancers. Heads turned, as those nearest it froze absurdly in mid-dance. Then the Patronus’s mouth opened wide and it spoke in a loud, deep, slow voice.

“ _The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming._ ”


	6. A Place to Hide

The Doctor jumped to his feet, hand flicking to his sonic, but ultimately pulling out his wand. Many people were only just realizing that something strange had happened; heads were still turning towards the silver cat as it vanished. Silence spread outward in cold ripples from the place where the Patronus had landed. Then somebody screamed.

The Doctor, Harry, and Hermione threw themselves into the panicking crowd. Guests were sprinting in all directions; many were Disapparating; the protective enchantments around the Burrow had broken. “Ron!” Hermione cried. “Ron, where are you?”

As they pushed their way across the dance floor, the Doctor saw cloaked and masked figures appearing in the crowd; then he saw Remus Lupin and Tonks, their wands raised, and heard both of them shout, “ _Protego_!”, a cry that was echoed on all sides –

“Ron! Ron!” Hermione called, half sobbing as she, Harry, and the Doctor were buffeted by terrified guests: Harry grabbed her hand, and the Doctor grabbed Harry’s to make sure they weren’t separated as a streak of light whizzed over their heads, whether a protective charm or something more sinister, the Doctor did not know –

And then Ron was there. He caught hold of Hermione’s free arm, and the Doctor felt her turn on the spot; sight and sound were extinguished as darkness pressed in upon him. It felt like a vortex manipulator, and suddenly the Doctor felt them touch the ground and looked around, “Tottenham Court Road,” panted Hermione, “Walk, just walk, we need to find somewhere for you to change.”

The four of them half walked, half ran up the wide dark street thronged with late-night revelers and lined with closed shops, stars twinkling above them. A double-decker bus rumbled by and a group of merry pub-goers ogled them as they passed; Harry and Ron were still wearing dress robes.

“Hermione, we haven’t got anything to change into,” Ron told her, as a young woman burst into raucous giggles at the sight of him.

“Why didn’t I make sure I had the Invisibility Cloak with me?” said Harry, “All last year I kept it on me and –”

“It’s okay, I’ve got the Cloak, I’ve got clothes for both of you,” she looked at the Doctor, “Sorry, I’ve got nothing for you, Doctor.”

“Don’t worry.” The Doctor said, waving her off as she continued,

“Just, try to act naturally until – this will do.” She led them down a side street, then into the shelter of a shadowy alleyway.

“When you say you’ve got the Cloak, and clothes…” said Harry, frowning at Hermione, who was carrying nothing except her small beaded handbag, in which she was now rummaging.

“Yes, they’re here,” said Hermione, pulling out a pair of jeans, a sweatshirt, some maroon socks, and finally the silvery Invisibility Cloak.

“How the ruddy hell –”

“Undetectable Extension Charm.” said Hermione, “Tricky, but I think I’ve done it okay; anyway, I managed to fit everything we need in here.” The Doctor grinned, Harry and Ron looked very impressed, if only they could see the TARDIS.

“Harry, you’d better take the Invisibility Cloak. Ron, hurry up and change…”

“When did you do all this?” Harry asked as Ron stripped off his robes.

“I told you at the Burrow, I’ve had the essentials packed for days, you know, in case we needed to make a quick getaway. I packed your rucksack this morning, Harry, after you changed, and put it in here…I just had a feeling…”

“You’re amazing, you are,” said Ron, holding her his bundled-up robes.

“Thank you,” said Hermione, managing a small smile as she pushed the robes into the bag. “Please, Harry, get that Cloak on!”

Harry threw the Invisibility Cloak around his shoulders and pulled it up over his head, vanishing from sight, though the Doctor could still sense the spatial disturbance.

“All right, where are we going?” The Doctor asked, Hermione hesitated, “I’m not quite sure, I just knew we needed to get out of there.”

“Well, we’re hunting Horcruxes, aren’t we? What are our leads?”

“Just this.” From under the cloak, Harry handed the Doctor a locket. He opened it, inside was a note. He silently read,

 

_To the Dark Lord,_

_I know I will be long dead before you read this_

_But I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret._

_I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can._

_I face death in the hope that when you meet your match,_

_You will be mortal once more._

_R.A.B._

 

The Doctor looked up, “Do we know who R.A.B. is, then?”

“No.”

“Do we know where any other Horcruxes are?”

“No.”

“Oh…” The Doctor wracked his brain, unfortunately, R.A.B. weren’t unusual initials.

“Let’s sit down somewhere,” Hermione said hastily, “Look, this will do, in here!” They made their way into a small and shabby all-night café. A light layer of grease lay n all the Formica-topped tables, but it was at least empty. The Doctor, Harry, Ron, and Hermione, sat down in a booth. The Doctor kept an eye on the door, a uneasy feeling washing over him.

“I say we find a quiet place to Disapparate and head for the countryside. Once we’re there, we could send a message to the Order.”

“Can you do that talking Patronus thing, then?” asked Ron.

“I’ve been practicing and I think so,” said Hermione. The Doctor took a sip of his coffee, then made a face, it was quite revolting.

“Let’s get going, then, I don’t want to drink this muck.” said Ron, “Hermione, have you got Muggle money to pay for this?”

“Yes, I took out all my Building Society savings before I came to the Burrow. I’ll bet all the change is t the bottom,” sighed Hermione, reaching for her beaded bag.

The Doctor watched the two workmen who were making identical movements, something was not right. Suddenly, they pulled out their wands. The Doctor jumped up, pulling his wand out, but Harry, still invisible, had already beat him to it. “ _Stupify!_ ”

The great blond Death Eater was hit in the face by a jet of red light: He slumped sideways, unconscious. His companion, unable to see who had cast the spell, fired one at the Doctor, who dove out of the way – the waitress screamed and ran for the door as the Doctor shot a stunning spell at the Death Eater who had just tried to hit him, he dodged it, then shouted “ _Expulso!_ ” and the table which the Doctor was standing behind blew up: The force of the explosion slammed the invisible Harry into the wall, his wand falling to the ground and the Cloak slipping off his shoulders.

“ _Petrificus Totalus!_ ” screamed Hermione from out of sight, and the Death Eater fell forward like a statue to land with a crunching thud on the mess of broken china, table, and coffee. Hermione crawled out from underneath the bench, shaking bits of glass ashtray out of her hair and trembling all over. Harry picked up his wand and climbed over all the debris to where the large blond Death Eater was sprawled across the bench.

“I should’ve recognized him, he was there the night Dumbledore died,” he said. He turned over the darker Death Eater with his foot; the man’s eyes moved rapidly between Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the Doctor.

“That’s Dolohov,” said Ron. “I recognize him from the old wanted posters. I think the big one’s Thorfinn Rowle.”

“Never mind what they’re called!” said Hermione a little hysterically. “How did they find us? What are we going to do?”

“Lock the door,” the Doctor said “and turn out the lights.” he pointed his sonic at the switch, and with a whurr, the door clicked shut and the lights flickered out.

“What are we going to do with them?” Ron whispered through the dark; then, even more quietly, “Kill them? They’d kill us. They had a good go just now.”

“No.” The Doctor said firmly, “There will be no killing.”

“We just need to wipe their memories,” said Harry. “It’s better like that.”

“You’re the boss,” said Ron, sounding relieved, “But I’ve never done a Memory Charm.”

“Nor have I,” said Hermione, but the Doctor stepped up, and flicked his wand,

“ _Obliviate_.” he muttered, and quickly and easily wiped their memory. “Brilliant. Allons-y!” Waving his wand through the air, the room began to reorder itself.

Once the café was restored to its previous condition, they heaved the Death Eaters back into their booth and propped them up facing each other. “But how did they find us?” Hermione asked, looking from one inert man to the other. “How did they know where we were?” They turned to the Doctor,

“You’re seventeen, right?” Hermione asked,

“Well, ninehundred and something, but maybe I’m seventeen now, I’m not quite sure.”

“What?” Hermione, Ron, and Harry stared at him,

“Older than seventeen.” He said simply,

“We need a safe place to hide,” said Ron. “Give us time to think things through.”

“Grimmauld Place,” said Harry.

“Don’t be silly, Harry, Snape can get in there!”

“Ron’s dad said they’ve put up jinxes against him – and even if they haven’t worked,” he pressed on as Hermione began to argue, “so what? I swear, I’d like nothing better than to meet Snape!”

“But –”

“Hermione, where else is there? It’s the best chance we’ve got. Snape’s only one Death Eater, if we don’t go there we’ll have whole crowds of them on us wherever else we go.”

The Doctor didn’t have enough information to argue, though Hermione looked like she wanted to. The Doctor unlocked the café door, Ron, clicked the Deluminator to release the café’s light. Then, on the Doctor’s count of three, they reversed the spells on their three victims, and before the waitress or either of the Death Eaters could do more than stir sleepily, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the Doctor had turned on the spot and vanished into the compressing darkness once more.

Seconds later they were standing in the middle of a small and shabby square. Tall, dilapidated houses looked down on them from every side. “It’s right up here,” Harry said, and suddenly, the Doctor found himself looking at number twelve.

“Oh, verbally activated perception filter, oh that is brilliant.”

Checking every few yards that they were not being followed or observed, they raced up the stone steps, and Harry tapped the front door once with his wand. They heard a series of metallic clicks and the clatter of a chain, then the door swung open with a creak and they hurried over the threshold.

As the Doctor closed the door behind them, the old-fashioned gas lamps sprang into lights, casting flickering light along the length of the hallway. It was eerie and cobwebbed. “I think somebody’s been in here,” Hermione whispered, pointing toward a troll’s leg umbrella stand, which was lying on its side.

“That could’ve happened as the Order left,” Ron murmured back.

“So where are these jinxes they put up against Snape?” Harry asked,

“Maybe they’re only activated if he shows up?” suggested Ron, yet they remained close together on the doormat, backs up against the door, finally the Doctor stepped forward, unsure what else to do.

“ _Severus Snape_?” A deep voice whispered out of the darkness, making them jump,

“We’re not Snape!” croaked Harry before something wooshed over the four of them like cold air and the Doctor’s tongue curled backward on itself, making it impossible to speak. Before he had time to feel the inside of his mouth, however, his tongue had unraveled again. Ron was making retching noises, and Hermione stammered,

“That m-must have b-been the T-Tongue-Tying Curse Mad-Eye set up for Snape!” The Doctor took another step forward, and before any of them could say another word, a figure had risen up out of the carpet, tall, dust-coloured, and terrible: Hermione screamed; the gray figure was gliding toward them, faster and faster, its waist-length hair and beard streaming behind it, its face sunken, fleshless, with empty eye sockets. It raised a wasted arm, pointing at the Doctor, when Harry shouted,

“No! It wasn’t us! We didn’t kill you –”

On the word _kill_ , the figure exploded in a great cloud of dust. Dust swirled around the Doctor like mist, catching the blue gaslight. The portrait up the stairs was shouting,

“ _Mudblood, filth, stains of dishonor, taint of shame on the house of my fathers –_ ”

“SHUT UP!” Harry bellowed, directing his wand at her, and with a bang and a burst of red sparks, the curtains swung shut again, silencing her.

“That…that was…” Hermione whimpered as Ron helped her to her feet.

“Yeah,” said Harry, “but it wasn’t really him, was it? Just something to scare Snape?”

Harry led the Doctor, Hermione, and Ron up the hall. Harry let out a yelp of pain, his hand flying up to his lightning-shaped scar on his forehead.

“What did you see?” Ron asked, advancing on Harry. “Did you see him at my place?”

“No, I just felt anger – he’s really angry –”

“Who’s really angry?” The Doctor asked,

“Voldemort,” Harry said,

“But could that be at the Burrow,” said Ron loudly. “What else? Didn’t you see anything? Was he cursing someone?”

“No, I just felt anger – I couldn’t tell –”

“Your scar, again?” Hermione said, “But what’s going on? I thought that connection had closed!”

“It did, for a while,” muttered Harry, “I – I think it’s started opening again whenever he loses control, that’s how it used to –”

“But then you’ve got to close your mind!” said Hermione shrilly. “Harry, Dumbledore didn’t want you to use that connection, he wanted you to shut it down, that’s why you were supposed to use Occlumency! Otherwise Voldemort can plant false images in your mind, remember –”

“Yeah, I do remember, thanks,” said Harry through gritted teeth.

Suddenly, Hermione let out a shriek, the Doctor spun around to see a silver Patronus soar through the drawing room window and land upon the floor in front of them, where it solidified into the weasel that spoke with the voice of Ron’s father.

“ _Family safe, do not reply, we are being watched_.” The Patronus dissolved into nothingness. Ron let out a noise between a whimper and a groan and dropped onto the sofa: Hermione joined him, gripping his arm.

“They’re all right, they’re all right!” she whispered, and Ron half laughed and hugged her.

“Harry,” he said over Hermione’s shoulder, “I –”

“It’s not a problem,” said Harry, “It’s your family, ‘course you’re worried. I’d feel the same way.” He paused, “I _do_ feel the same way.”

Suddenly, the Doctor saw Harry bolt to the bathroom. He followed right behind, quickly unlocking the door and kneeling down to Harry, who was on the floor. Pressing his fingers on Harry’s temples. The Doctor saw a long room lit only by firelight, and the great blond Death Eater on the floor, screaming and writhing, and a slighter figure standing over him, wand outstretched, speaking in a high, cold, merciless voice.

“More, Rowle, or shall we end it and feed you to Nagini? Lord Voldemort is not sure that he will forgive this time…You called me back for this, to tell me that Harry Potter has escaped again? Draco, give Rowle another taste of our displeasure…Do it, or feel my wrath yourself!”

A log fell in the fire: Flames reared, their light darting across a terrified, pointed white face.

Finally, the Doctor managed to shove the external force out of Harry’s head. Harry looked up at him, “How did you – ?”

“I think you should to work on your Occlumency.”


	7. Kreacher's Tale

The next morning, the Doctor watched as Harry got up. Hermione and Ron hadn’t woken yet, and he didn’t need sleep. He followed Harry as he left the room, well aware that no one should be alone.

“What do you want?” Harry finally said, spinning around,

“I just thought you shouldn’t be alone…” The Doctor said,

“Yes, cause you’re my ‘protector’.” Harry said, “I’m sorry to disappoint, but I don’t need you.”

“Yes, of course.” The Doctor said, slightly hurt, “But I’m here to help.”

“I don’t want your help.” Harry spat, turning on his heel. The Doctor still followed. “Leave me alone.” Harry hissed angrily,

“It’s not safe to wander off on your own.” Harry rolled his eyes, walking up to the topmost landing, then freezing at a door that was labeled: SIRIUS. “Who’s Sirius?” The Doctor asked,

“He is – was – my godfather…” The Doctor looked to the floor,

“I’m sorry. What happened?”  
“He was killed, it was my fault. Voldemort tricked me, made me think he was torturing Sirius, but he wasn’t. Sirius came to save me and died.” The Doctor turned Harry so that his eyes were staring into the Doctor’s,

“It wasn’t your fault.” Harry looked confused,

“What do you – yes it was! I –”

“No. It wasn’t your fault.” Harry hesitated, but said nothing, pushing the door open.

The room was spacious and must once have been handsome. There was a large bed with a carved wooden headboard, a tall window obscured by large velvet curtains, and a chandelier thickly coated in dust with candle stubs still resting in its sockets, solid wax hanging in frostlike drips. A fine film of dust covered the pictures on the walls and the bed’s headboard; a spider’s web stretched between the chandelier and the top of the large wooden wardrobe.

There were so many pictures plastered over the walls that the silvery-gray silk of the wall was barely visible. There were several large scarlet and gold Gryffindor banners. There were many pictures of motorcycles and also posters of bikini-clad Muggle girls (he could tell they were Muggles because the pictures weren’t moving). This was in contrast to the only Wizarding photograph on the walls, which was a picture of four students standing arm in arm, laughing at the camera.

Harry stepped up to this photograph, he tried to pull it off the wall, but it did not move. The Doctor stepped up, pulling out his sonic, “Ooh, very clever, permanent sticking. But if I can rearrange the particles so it thins the adhesive…” With a buzz of the Sonic Screwdriver, the picture loosened so that Harry could easily take it off. He stared at the Doctor,

“That must’ve been a Permanent Sticking Charm. How’d you get it off?” The Doctor grinned,

“See, I’m a little more useful to have around than you may have thought.”

The Doctor and Harry continued to look through the room. The carpet was covered in bits of paper, books, and small objects. It looked as though it had been searched, books had been shaken roughly enough to part company with their covers and sundry pages littered the floor. Harry bent down and picked up a few pieces of paper. He glanced through them, but froze at the last one. The Doctor peered over his shoulder. The letter read,

 

_Dear Padfoot,_

_Thank you, thank you, for Harry’s birthday present! It was his favorite by far. One year old and already zooming along on a toy broomstick, he looked so pleased with himself, I’m enclosing a picture so you can see. You know it only rises about two feet off the ground, but he nearly killed the cat and he smashed a horrible vase Petunia sent me for Christmas (no complaints there). Of course, James thought it was so funny, says he’s going to be a great Quidditch player, but we’ve had to pack away all the ornaments and make sure we don’t take our eyes off him when he gets going._

_We had a very quiet birthday tea, just us and old Bathilda, who has always been sweet to us and who dotes on Harry. We were so sorry you couldn’t come, but the Order’s got to come first, and Harry’s not old enough to know it’s his birthday anyway! James is getting a bit frustrated shut up here, he tries not to show it but I can tell – also, Dumbledore’s still got his Invisibility Cloak, so no chance of little excursions. If you could visit, it would cheer him up so much. Wormy was here last weekend, I thought he seemed down, but that was probably the news about the McKinnons; I cried all evening when I heard._

_Bathilda drops in most days, she’s a fascinating old thing with the most amazing stories about Dumbledore, I’m not sure he’d be pleased if he knew! I don’t know how much to believe, actually, because it seems incredible that Dumbledore_

 

The letter ended there, leaving Harry to lurch on the bed. “Are you alright?” The Doctor asked, Harry just looked up and whispered,

“She made her “g”s the same way I do…” The Doctor sat down beside the boy, his eyes wet with tears. After a half an hour looking, the Doctor and Harry finally concluded that the rest of the letter simply wasn’t there. Harry flopped back on the bed, then looked at the Doctor,

“Do you have any family?” He was startled at the question,

“No, not anymore I don’t.” Harry nodded,

“Do you ever see things that remind you of them, and nobody seems to understand why, and you can’t quite explain, that makes you sad?”

“Of course,” The Doctor said, “But you have to let them live through you. They may not be there anymore, but they are in you, in every little choice you make, you let them live.”

“Who did you lose?”

“Everybody.” The Doctor said, standing up, “I lost everybody.”

“Harry! Doctor! Harry!” Hermione’s voice traveled from downstairs,

“We’re up here!” The Doctor shouted, “What’s going on?”

There was a clatter of footsteps outside the door, and Hermione burst inside. “We woke up and didn’t know where you two were!” she said breathlessly. She turned and shouted over her shoulder, “Ron! I’ve found them!” Ron’s annoyed voice echoed distantly from several floors below.

“Good! Tell them from me they’re gits!”

“You guys can’t just disappear, please, we were terrified! Why did you come up here anyway?” She gazed around at the ransacked room. “What have you two been doing?”

“Look what I’ve just found.”

Harry held out his mother’s letter. Hermione took it and read it while the Doctor and Harry watched her. When she reached the end of the page, she looked up at him. “Oh, Harry…”

“And there’s this too.” he handed the torn photograph, and Hermione smiled at the baby zooming in and out of sight on the toy broom.

“We’ve been looking for the rest of the letter,” The Doctor explained, “but it’s not here.” Hermione glanced around,

“Did you make all this mess, or was some of it done when you got here?”

“Someone had searched before us,” said Harry.

“I thought so. Every room I looked into on the way up had been disturbed. Were they after, do you think?”

“Information on the Order, if it was Snape.” Harry said,

“But you’d think he’d already have all he needed, I mean, he was _in_ the Order, wasn’t he?”

“Well then,” said Harry, “what about information on Dumbledore? The second page of this letter, for instance. You know this Bathilda my mum mentions, you know who she is?”

“Who?” Hermione asked,

“Bathilda Bagshot, the author of –”

“ _A History of Magic,_ ” said Hermione, looking interested. “So your parents knew her? She was an incredible magical historian.”

“And she’s still alive,” said Harry, “and she lives in Godric’s Hollow, Ron’s Auntie Muriel was talking about her at the wedding. She knew Dumbledore’s family too. Be pretty interesting to talk to, wouldn’t she?”

“I understand why you’d love to go talk to her about your mum and dad, and Dumbledore too,” said Hermione. “But that wouldn’t really help us in our search for the Horcruxes, would it?” When Harry didn’t respond, she continued, “Harry, I know you really want to go to Godric’s Hollow, but I’m scared, I’m scared at how easily those Death Eaters found us yesterday. It just makes me feel more than ever that we ought to avoid the place where your parents are buried, I’m sure they’d be expecting you to visit it.”

“It’s not just that,” Harry said, “Muriel said stuff about Dumbledore at the wedding. I want to know the truth…”

Harry told Hermione everything he and the Doctor had heard from Muriel. When he had finished, Hermione said, “Of course, I can see why that’s upset you, Harry –”

“I’m not upset,” Harry said, “I’d just like to know whether or not it’s true or –”

“Harry, do you really think you’ll get the truth from a malicious old woman like Muriel, or from Rita Skeeter? How can you believe them? You knew Dumbledore!”

“I thought I did.” Harry muttered,

“But you know how much truth there was in everything Rita wrote about you! Doge is right, how can you let these people tarnish your memories of Dumbledore?”

There was a tense moment of silence, so the Doctor decided to pitch in, “Let’s go find some breakfast, shall we?” Harry nodded, and they left, followed by Hermione. Just as he was about to walk down the stairs, something caught his eye. It was a small sign he hadn’t noticed hanging from the door of the next room over,

 

_**Do not Enter** _

_**Without the Express permission of** _

_**Regulus Arcturus Black** _

 

“Harry, Hermione.” He breathed, “R.A.B.” There was a gasp, and Harry and Hermione were immediately at his side.

“Sirius’s brother?” Hermione whispered,

“He was a Death Eater,” said Harry, “Sirius told me about him, he joined up when he was really young and then got cold feet and tried to leave – so they killed him.”

“That’s awful.” The Doctor said solemnly,

“That fits!” Hermione gasped. “If he was a Death Eater, he had access to Voldemort, and if he became disenchanted, then he would have wanted to bring Voldemort down!” She leaned over the banister, and screamed, “Ron! RON! Get up here, quick!”

Ron appeared, panting, a minute later, his wand ready in his hand. “What’s up? If it’s massive spiders again I want breakfast before I –” He frowned at the sign on Regulus’s door, to which Hermione was silently pointing.

“What? That was Sirius’s brother, wasn’t it? Regulus Arcturus…Regulus… _R.A.B_.! The locket – you don’t reckon – ?”

“Let’s find out.” The Doctor pulled out the Sonic, unlocking the door, which swung open.

They moved over the threshold together, gazing around. Regulus’s bedroom was slightly smaller than Sirius’s, though it had the same sense of former grandeur. Whereas Sirius had sought to advertise his difference from the rest of the family, Regulus had striven to emphasize the opposite. The emerald and silver Slytherin colours were everywhere, draping the bed, the walls, and the windows. The Black family crest was painstakingly painted over the bed, along with its motto, TOUJOURS PUR, or Always Pure. Beneath this was a collection of yellow newspaper cuttings, all stuck together to make a ragged colourage. Hermione crossed the room to examine them.

“They’re all about Voldemort,” she said. “Regulus seems to have been a fan for a few years before he joined the Death Eaters…” A little puff of dust rose from the bedcovers as she sat down to read the clippings. Hermione raised her wand, “ _Accio Locket!_ ”

Nothing happened. “Is that it, then? It’s not here?” Ron asked,

“Oh, it could still be here, but under counter-enchantments,” said Hermione. “Charms to prevent it being summoned magically, you know.”

“No…” The Doctor said, “No, it’s not here.”

“How can you tell?” Harry asked,

“A Horcrux is packed with psychic energy,” The Doctor explained, “It’s an entire soul condensed into a single object. If it was here, I would be able to feel it.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked, “Why would you be able to feel it? None of us can.”

“Well…” The Doctor hesitated for a moment, considering lying, “I’ve got better senses than you lot, see, I’m not exactly human…”

“What?” Hermione and Ron’s wands were out, though Harry’s wasn’t.

“I’m a Time Lord. I come from very far away and I am here to help.”

“What gives us any reason to keep you around?” Hermione demanded,

“Well, I’m quite useful.” The Doctor said, “I can help. I want to help. You just have to let me.” Hermione looked at Harry, who simply said,

“He can stay, but we’ll be keeping an eye on you.”

“Brilliant!” The Doctor grinned, “Now, where do you think the locket might be?” Hermione suddenly gasped,

“There was a locket!”

“What?” Asked Ron,

“In the cabinet in the drawing room. Nobody could open it. And we…we…”

“Kreacher nicked loads of things back from us,” said Harry hopefully, “He had a whole stash of stuff in his cupboard in the kitchen. C’mon.”

They ran down the stairs, making sure the Doctor was in front. The Doctor was quickly surpassed by Harry, who skidded to a halt at the door of a cupboard, and wrenched it open. There was a nest of dirty old blankets in which the house-elf must have once slept, “Can you feel it?” Harry demanded,

“No.” The Doctor said, “It’s not here.”

“It’s not over yet.” Harry said, and he raised his voice and called, “ _Kreacher!_ ” There was a loud _crack_ and the house-elf appeared out of nowhere in front of the cold and empty fireplace: tiny, half human-sized, his pale skin hanging off him in folds, white hair sprouting copiously from his batlike ears. He was wearing a filthy rag. He bowed,

“ _Master_.” he croaked, then began muttering, “back in my Mistress’s old house with the blood-traitor Weasley and the Mudblood –”

“I forbid you to call anyone ‘blood traitor’ or ‘Mudblood,’” growled Harry, “I’ve got a question for you, and I order you to answer it truthfully. Understand?”

“Yes, Master,” said Kreacher, bowing low again,

“Two years ago,” said Harry, “there was a big gold locket in the drawing room upstairs. We threw it out. Did you steal it back?” There was a moment’s silence, the Doctor then said,

“We’re not angry with you if you did, we just need to know.” Kreacher looked up at the Doctor, clearly surprised, but didn’t say anything to him, turning to Harry,

“Yes.”

“Where is it now?” asked Harry jubilantly. Kreacher closed his eyes as though he could not bear to see their reactions to his next word.

“Gone.”

“Gone?” echoed Harry, “What do you mean, it’s gone?” The elf shivered. He swayed,

“Kreacher,” said Harry fiercely, “I order you –”

“Mundungus Fletcher,” croaked the elf, his eyes still tight shut. “Mundungus Fletcher stole it all: Miss Bella’s and Miss Cissy’s pictures, my Mistress’s gloves, the Order of Merlin, First Class, the goblets with the family crest, and – and –” Kreacher was gulping for air. His hollow chest was rising and falling rapidly, then his eyes flew open and he uttered a bloodcurdling scream. “ _– and the locket, Master Regulus’s locket, Kreacher did wrong, Kreacher failed in his orders!_ ” The Doctor grabbed the elf as he longed for the pker standing in the grate.

“How did you fail Regulus?” The Doctor asked,

“I do not have to answer you.” Kreacher spat,

“Yes, but if you do, if you help us, we can get that locket. We can destroy the locket. Then you can have it.” Kreacher stared up at the Doctor,

“Master Sirius ran away,” Kreacher said, “good riddance, for he was a bad boy and broke my Mistress’s heart with his lawless ways. But Master Regulus had proper pride; he knew what was due to the name of Black and the dignity of his pure blood. For years he talked of the Dark Lord, who was going to bring the wizards out of hiding and rule the Muggles and Muggle-borns…and when he was sixteen years old, Master Regulus joined the Dark Lord. So proud, so proud, so happy to serve…and one day, a year after he had joined, Master Regulus came down to the kitchen to see Kreacher. Master Regulus always liked Kreacher. And Master Regulus said…he said…he said that the Dark Lord required an elf.”

“Voldemort needed an _elf_?” Harry interrupted,

“Oh yes,” moaned Kreacher. “And Master Regulus had volunteered Kreacher. It was an honor, said Master Regulus, an honor for him and for Kreacher, who must be sure to do whatever the Dark Lord ordered him to do…and then to c-come home.” Kreacher’s breath was coming out in sobs. “So Kreacher went to the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord did not tell Kreacher what they were to do, but took Kreacher with him to a cave beside the sea. And beyond the cave there was a cavern, and in the cavern was a great black lake…There was a boat…There was a b-basin full of potion on the island. The D-Dark Lord made Kreacher drink it…Kreacher drank, and as he drank, he saw terrible things…Kreacher’s insides burned…Kreacher cried for Master Regulus to save him, he cried for his Mistress Black, but the Dark Lord only laughed…He made Kreacher drink all the potion…He dropped a locket into the empty basin…He filled it with more potion. And then the Dark Lord sailed away, leaving Kreacher on the island…” Kreacher was quaking from head to toe, “Kreacher needed water, he crawled to the island’s edge and he drank from the black lake…and hands, dead hands, came out of the water and dragged Kreacher under the surface…”

“How did you get away?” Harry whispered, Kreacher raised his head,

“Master Regulus told Kreacher to come back,” he said.

“I know – but how did you escape the Inferi?” Kreacher did not seem to understand.

“Master Regulus told Kreacher to come back,” he repeated.

“I know, but –”

“Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it, Harry?” said Ron. “He Disapparated!”

“But…you couldn’t Apparate in and out of that cave,” said Harry, “otherwise Dumbledore –”

“He’s an elf, Harry,” The Doctor said, “Elf magic is almost like a different brand of magic. It allows them to Apparate and Disapparate to and from places where witches and wizards usually wouldn’t be able to.”

“Of course,” Hermione said, “Voldemort would have considered the ways of house-elves far beneath his notice, just like all the purebloods who treat them like animals…It would never have occurred to him that they might have magic that he didn’t.”

“The house-elf’s highest law is his Master’s bidding,” intoned Kreacher. “Kreacher was told to come home, so Kreacher came home…”

“What did you disobey, then?” The Doctor asked,

“When I got back, Master Regulus was very worried, very worried,” croaked Kreacher. “Master Regulus told Kreacher to stay hidden and not to leave the house. And then…it was a little while later…Master Regulus came to find Kreacher in his cupboard one night, and Master Regulus was strange, not as he usually was, disturbed in his mind, Kreacher could tell…and he asked Kreacher to take him to the cave, the cave Where Kreacher had gone with the Dark Lord…”

“And he made you drink the potion?” asked Harry, but Kreacher shook his head and wept.

“M-Master Regulus took from his pocket a locket like the one the Dark Lord had,” said Kreacher, tears pouring down either side of his nose. “And he told Kreacher to take it and, when the basin was empty, to switch the lockets…And he ordered – Kreacher to leave – without him. And he told Kreacher – to go home – and never to tell my Mistress – what he had done – but to destroy – the first locket. And he drank – all the potion – and Kreacher swapped the lockets – and watched…as Master Regulus…was dragged beneath the water…and…”

“Oh, Krecher!” wailed Hermione, who was crying,

“And you brought it home?” The Doctor prompted, “And you tried to destroy it?”

“Nothing Kreacher did made any mark upon it,” moaned the elf. “Kreacher tried everything, everything he knew, but nothing, nothing would work…So many powerful spells upon the casting, would not open…Kreacher punished himself, he tried again, he punished himself, he tried again. Kreacher failed to obey orders, Kreacher could not destroy the locket! And his Mistress was mad with grief, because Master Regulus had disappeared, and Kreacher could not tell her what had happened, no, because Master Regulus had f-f-forbidden him to tell any of the f-f-family what happened in the c-cave…”

Kreacher began to sob so hard that there were no more coherent words. “But you’ve not failed him yet,” The Doctor said, “We need to track it down and find it so we can destroy it.” But Kreacher did not respond, continuing to sob. After a while, Harry said,

“Kreacher, when you feel up to it, er…please sit up.”

It was several minutes before Kreacher hiccuped himself into silence. Then he pushed himself into a sitting position again, rubbing his knuckles into his eyes like a small child. “Kreacher, I am going to ask you to do something,” said Harry carefully, “Kreacher, I want you, please, to go and find Mundungus Fletcher. We need him to find out where the locket – where Master Regulus’s locket is. We really do want to finish the work Master Regulus started.” Kreacher dropped his fists and looked up at Harry.

“Find Mundungus Fletcher?” he croaked,

“And bring him here, to Grimmauld Place,” said Harry. “Do you think you could do that for us?” Kreacher nodded and got to his feet. Suddenly, Harry pulled the false locket out of his pouch, “Kreacher, I’d er, like you to have this,” he said, pressing the locket into the elfs hand. “This belonged to Regulus and I’m sure he’d want you to have it as a token of gratitude for what you –”

“Overkill, mate,” said Ron as the elf took one look at the locket, let out a howl of shock and misery, and threw himself back onto the ground.

It took them nearly half an hour to calm down Kreacher, who was so overcome to be presented with a Black family heirloom for his very own that he was too weak at the knees to stand properly. When finally he was able to totter a few steps they all accompanied him to his cupboard, watched him tuck the locket safely in his dirty blankets (the Doctor resolved to get him clean ones), and assured him that they would make its protection their first priority while he was away. He then made three low bows to Harry, Ron, and the Doctor, and even gave a funny little spasm in Hermione’s direction that might have been an attempt at a respectful salute, before Disapparating with the usual loud _crack_.


	8. The Bribe

Kreacher did not return that morning, or even that afternoon, By nightfall, the Doctor could tell that the others were quite discouraged and anxious.

Kreacher did not return the following day, nor the day after that. However, two cloaked men had appeared in the square outside number twelve, and they remained there into the night, gazing in the direction of the house that they could not see.

“Death Eaters, for sure,” said Ron as he, Harry, Hermione, and the Doctor watched from the drawing room windows. “Reckon they know we’re in here?”

“No,” the Doctor said, “no, else they’d have sent someone in here already.”

“D’you reckon Snape’s been in here and had his tongue tied by Moody’s curse?” asked Ron.

“Yes,” said Hermione, “otherwise he’d have been able to tell that lot how to get in, wouldn’t he? But they’re probably watching to see whether we turn up. They know Harry owns the house, after all.”

“How do they – ?” Began Harry.

“Wizarding wills are examined by the Ministry, remember? They’ll know Sirius left you the place.”

The presence of Death Eaters outside increased the ominous mood inside number twelve. They had not heard a word from anyone beyond Grimmauld Place since Mr. Weasley’s Patronus, and the Doctor was becoming restless. Ron had developed an annoying habit of playing with the Deluminator in his pocket: This particularly infuriated Hermione, who was whiling away the wait for Kreacher by studying _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ (Which the Doctor had already memorized) and did not appreciate the way the lights kept flashing on and off.

“Will you stop it!” she cried on the third evening of Kreacher’s absence, as all the light was sucked from the drawing room yet again.

“Sorry, sorry!” said Ron, clicking the Deluminator and restoring the lights. “I don’t know I’m doing it!”

“Can’t you find something more useful to occupy yourself?”

“What, like reading kids’ stories?”

“Dumbledore left me this book, Ron –”

“ – and he left me the Deluminator, maybe I’m supposed to use it!” Suddenly, the Doctor, who had been entertaining Harry with stories of planets and space in the other room, jumped,

“Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Harry asked, but just then, they heard a tap on the front door, ten metallic clicks and the grinding of the chain. Harry and the Doctor pulled out their wands and moved into the shadows and waited. The door opened: They saw a glimpse of the lamplit square outside, and a cloaked figure edged into the hall and closed the door behind it. The intruder took a step forward, and a voice asked, “ _Severus Snape?_ ” Then, the dust figure rose from the end of the hall and rushed him, raising its dead hand.

“It was not I who killed you, Albus,” said a quiet voice. The jinx broke: The dust-figure exploded again, and it was impossible to make out the newcomer through the dense grey cloud it left behind, even with the Doctor’s superior vision. The Doctor and Harry had their wands pointed at it,

“Show yourself!” The Doctor demanded, Ron and Hermione coming crashing down the stairs at the commotion, their wands out and pointing at the figure.

“Hold your fire, it’s me, Remus!”

“Oh, thank goodness,” said Hermione weakly, dropping her wand, as did Ron, though Harry and the Doctor did not.

“Show yourself!” Harry said,

Remus Lupin moved forward into the lamplight, hands still held high in a gesture of surrender. “I am Remus John Lupin, werewolf, sometimes known as Moony, one of the four creators of the Marauder’s Map, married to Nymphadora, usually known as Tonks, and I taught you how to produce a Patronus, Harry, which takes the form of a stag.”

“What did I arrive in at the Burrow?” The Doctor asked,

“In a blue telephone box.” Remus said, the Doctor nodded and dropped his wand. “No sign of Severus, then?”

“No,” said Harry. “What’s going on? Is everyone okay?”

“Yes,” said Remus, “but we’re all being watched. There are a couple of Death Eaters in the square outside –”

“We know –”

“I had to Apparate very precisely onto the top step outside the front door to be sure that they wouldn’t see me. They can’t know you’re in here or I’m sure they’d have more people out there; they’re stalking out everywhere that’s got any connection with you, Harry. Let’s go downstairs, there’s a lot to tell you, and I want you to know what happened after you left the Burrow.”

They descended into the kitchen, where Hermione pointed her wand at the grate. A fire sprang up instantly: It gave the illusion of the coziness to the stark stone walls and glistened off the long wooden table. Remus pulled a few butterbeers from beneath his traveling cloak and they sat down. “I’d have been here three days ago but I needed to shake off the Death Eater tailing me,” said Remus. “So you came straight here after the wedding?”

“No,” said Harry, “only after we ran into a couple of Death Eaters in a café on Tottenham Court Road.” Remus slopped most of his butterbeer down his front.

“ _What?_ ”

They explained what had happened; when they had finished, Remus looked aghast. “But how did they find you so quickly? It’s impossible to track anyone who Apparates, unless you grab hold of them as they disappear!”

“And it doesn’t seem likely they were just strolling down Tottenham Court Road at the time, does it?” said Harry.

“Tell us what happened after we left,” Ron said, unable to contain his questions, “we haven’t heard anything since Dad said they were safe.”

“Well, Kingsley saved us,” said Remus. “Thanks to his warning most of the wedding guests were able to Disapparate before they arrived.”

“Were they Death Eaters or Ministry people?” Interjected Hermione.

“A mixture; but to all intents and purposes they’re the same thing now,” said Remus. “There were about a dozen of them, but they didn’t know you were there, Harry. Arthur heard a rumor that they tried to torture your whereabouts out of Scrimgeour before they killed him; it it’s true, he didn’t give you away. The Death Eaters searched the Burrow from top to bottom,” Remus went on. “They found the ghoul, but didn’t want to get too close –” The Doctor raised an eyebrow, curious as to what a ghoul was doing in the Burrow. “And then they interrogated those of us who remained for hours. They were trying to get information on you, Harry, but of course nobody apart from the Order knew that you had been there. At the same time that they were smashing up the wedding, more Death Eaters were forcing their way into every Order-connected house in the country. No deaths,” he added quickly, forestalling the question, “but they were rough. They burned down Dedalus Diggle house, but as you know he wasn’t there, and they used the Cruciatus Curse on Toks’s family. Again, trying to find out where you went after you visited them. They’re all right – shaken, obviously, but otherwise okay.”

“The Death Eaters got through all those protective charms?” Harry asked,

“What you’ve got to realize, Harry, is that the Death Eaters have got the full might of the Ministry on their side now,” said Remus. “They’ve got the power to perform brutal spells without fear of identification or arrest. They managed to penetrate every defensive spell we’d cast against them, and once inside, they were completely open about why they’d come.”

“And are they bothering to give an excuse for torturing Harry’s whereabouts out of people?” asked Hermione, an edge to her voice.

“Well,” said Remus. He hesitated, then pulled out a folded copy of the _Daily Prophet_. “Here,” he said pushing it across the table, “you’ll know sooner or later anyway. That’s their pretext for going after you.” Harry smoothed out the paper, the Doctor looking over his shoulder. A huge photograph of Harry’s face filled the front page. He read the headline over it:

 

_**WANTED FOR QUESTIONING ABOUT** **  
** **THE DEATH OF ALBUS DUMBLEDORE** _

 

Harry pushed the newspaper away, clearly not wanting to see the rest of it. “I’m sorry, Harry,” Remus said

“But _surely_ people have realized what’s going on,” the Doctor said,

“The coup has been smooth and virtually silent,” said Remus, “The official version of Scrimgeour's murder is that he resigned; he has been replaced by Pius Thicknesse, who is under the Imperius Curse.”

“Please, people must be aware, there isn’t this dramatic of a change in positions usually,”

“Naturally,” Remus said, “But they have been whispers only. They daren’t confide in each other, not knowing whom to trust; they are scared to speak out, in case their suspicions are true and their families are targeted. Yes, Voldemort is playing a very clever game. Declaring himself might have provoked open rebellion: Remaining masked has created confusion, uncertainty, and fear.”

“The best weapon.” The Doctor sighed, running a hand through his messy hair, “Besides books and words I suppose…”

“And this dramatic change in Ministry policy,” said Harry, “involves warning the Wizarding world against me instead of Voldemort?”

“That is certainly part of it,” said Remus, “and it is a masterstroke. Now that Dumbledore is dead, you – the Boy Who Lived – were sure to be the symbol of rallying point for any resistance to Voldemort. But by suggesting that you had a hand in the old hero’s death, Voldemort has not only set a price upon your head, but sown doubt and fear amongst many who would have defended you.Meanwhile, the Ministry has started moving against Muggle-borns.” Remus pointed at the _Daily Prophet_. “Look at page two.”

Hermione turned the pages, “‘ _Muggle-born Register_ ,’” she read aloud. “‘ _The Ministry of Magic is undertaking a survey of so-called “Muggle-borns,” the better to understand how they came to possess magical secrets._

“‘ _Recent research undertaken by the Department of Mysteries reveals that magic can only be passed from person to person when Wizards reproduce. Where no proven Wizarding ancestry exists, therefore, the so-called Muggle-born is likely to have obtained magical power by theft or force._

“‘ _The Ministry is determined to root out such usurpers of magical power, and to this end has issued an invitation to every so-called Muggle-born to present themselves for interview by the newly appointed Muggle-born Registration Commission_.’”

“People won’t let this happen,” said Ron.

“It _is_ happening, Ron,” said Remus. “Muggle-borns are being rounded up as we speak.”

“But how are they supposed to have ‘stolen’ magic?” said Ron. “It’s mental, if you could steal magic there wouldn’t be any Squibs, would there?”

“I know,” said Remus. “Nevertheless, unless you can prove that you have at least one close Wizarding relative, you are now deemed to have obtained your magical power illegally and must suffer the punishment.”

“That’s insane.” The Doctor said,

“What if purebloods and half-bloods swear a Muggle-born’s part of their family?” Ron asked, glancing at Hermione, “I’ll tell everyone Hermione’s my cousin –” Hermione covered Ron’s hand with hers and squeezed it.

“Thank you, Ron, but I couldn’t let you –”

“You won’t have a choice,” said Ron fiercely, gripping her hand back. “I’ll teach you my family tree so you can answer questions on it.” Hermione gave a shaky laugh.

“Ron, as we’re on the run with Harry Potter, the most wanted person in the country, I don’t think it matters. If I was going back to school it would be different. What’s Voldemort planning for Hogwarts?” she asked Remus.

“Attendance is now compulsory for every young witch and wizard,” he replied. “That was announced yesterday. It’s a change, because it was never obligatory before. Of course, nearly every witch and wizard in Britain has been educated at Hogwarts, but their parents had the right to teach them at home or send them abroad if they prefered. This way, Voldemort will have the whole Wizarding population under his eye from a young age. And it’s also another way of weeding out Muggle-borns, because students must be given Blood Status – meaning that they have proven to the Ministry that they are of Wizard descent – before they are allowed to attend.”

The Doctor felt sickened by this. Lupin hesitated, before saying, “I’ll understand if you can’t confirm this, Harry, but the Order is under the impression that Dumbledore left you a mission.”

“He did,” Harry replied, “And Ron, Hermione, and the Doctor are in on it and they’re coming with me.”

“Can you confide in me what the mission is?” Harry looked at him for a moment,

“I can’t, Remus, I’m sorry. If Dumbledore didn’t tell you I don’t think I can.”

“Why did you tell the Doctor, then?”

“Because Dumbledore clearly wanted him to know,” Harry said,

“I thought you’d say that,” said Remus, “But I might still be of some use to you. You know what I am and what I can do. I could come with you to provide protection. There would be no need to tell me exactly what you were up to.”

Harry hesitated. Clearly tempted by his offer, Hermione, however, looked puzzled. “But what about Tonks?” she asked,

“What about her?” said Remus,

“Well,” said Hermione, frowning, “you’re married! How does she feel about you going away with us?”

“Tonks will be perfectly safe,” said Remus. “She’ll be at her parents’ house.” The Doctor frowned, there was something wrong, something cold in his voice…Hermione seemed to catch onto it as well,

‘Remus,” said Hermione tentatively, “is everything all right…you know…between you and –”

“Everything is fine, thank you,” said Remus pointedly. There was a pause, “Tonks is going to have a baby.”

“Oh, how wonderful!” squealed Hermione.

“Excellent!” said Ron enthusiastically,

“Congratulations” said Harry,

“Oh, that’s brilliant!” The Doctor grinned, but Remus gave an artificial smile that was more like a grimace, then said, “So…do you accept my offer? Will the four become five? I cannot believe that Dumbledore would have disapproved, he appointed me your Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, after all. And I must tell you that I believe that we are facing magic many of us have never encountered or imagined.” Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the Doctor exchanged a look,

“Just – just to be clear,” Harry said. “You want to leave Tonks at her parents’ house and come away with us?”

“She’ll be perfectly safe there, they’ll look after her,” said Remus, “Harry, I’m sure James would have wanted me to stick with you.” The Doctor growled,

“I don’t think you should treat Harry by his father’s standards.”

“And I’m pretty sure my father would have wanted to know why you aren’t sticking with your own kid, actually.” Harry said. Remus’s face drained of colour.

“You don’t understand,” said Remus at last,

“Explain, then.” said the Doctor. Remus swallowed.

“I – I made a grave mistake in marrying Tonks. I did it against my better judgement and I have regretted it very much ever since.”

“I see,” said Harry, “so you’re just going to dump her and the kid and run off with us?” Remus sprung to his feet: His chair toppled over backward, and he glared at the Doctor and Harry,

“Don’t you understand what I’ve done to my wife and my unborn child? I should never have married her, I’ve made her an outcast!” He kicked the aside the chair he had overturned. “You have only ever seen me amongst the Order, or under Dumbledore’s protection at Hogwarts! You don’t know how most of the Wizarding world sees creatures like me! When they know of my affliction, they can barely talk to me! Don’t you see what I’ve done? Even her own family is disgusted by our marriage, what parents want their only daughter to marry a werewolf? And the child – the child –” Remus seized handfuls of his own hair, “My kind don’t usually breed! It will be like me, I am convinced of it – how can I forgive myself, when I knowingly risked passing on my own condition to an innocent child? And if, by some miracle, it is not like me, than it will be better off, a hundred times so, without a father of whom it must always be ashamed.” The Doctor stepped up,  
“No. No, a father is not judged on their afflictions or imperfections, but on their devotion to their family. So right now, how would your child see you? You have left them to run away on an adventure. You have chosen not to even bother try! And your wife, you made a promise, Remus, if I am not mistaken, for better and for worse. For richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health. Now don’t you dare break that promise because you are afraid.” The Doctor paused, looking at the man, “Now leave. We don’t want you here.” Remus looked stunned, turning to Harry for a different answer, but Harry just said,

“He’s right. We don’t want you.”

And with the swoosh of his cloak, he was gone.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the Doctor stood in silence for a while, no one daring to speak, when finally, that silence was shattered by a _crack_. The four of them jumped to their feet as Kreacher disentangled himself from another man and, bowing low to Harry, croaked, “Kreacher has returned with the thief Mundungus Fletcher, Master.”

Mundungus scrambled up and pulled out his wand; the Doctor, however, was much too quick for him. “ _Expelliarmus!”_ Mundungus’s wand soared into the air, and the Doctor caught it. Wild-eyed, Mundungus dived for the stairs: Ron rugby-tackled him and Mundungus hit the stone floor with a muffled crunch.

“What?” he bellowed, writing in his attempts to free himself from Ron’s grip. “Wha’ve I don? Setting a bleedin’ ‘ouse-elf on me, what are you playing at, wha’ve I done, lemme go, lemme go, or –”

“You’re not in much of a position to make threats,” said Harry, crossing the kitchn in a few strides and dropping to his knees next to the man, who stopped struggling and looked terrified. Ron got up, panting, and pointed his wand deliberately at Mundungus’s nose. Mundungus stank of stale sweat and tobacco smoke: His hair was matted and his robes stained.

“Kreacher apologizes for the delay in bringing the thief, Master,” croaked the elf. “Fletcher knows how to avoid capture, has many hidey-holes and accomplices. Nevertheless, Kreacher cornered the thief in the end.”

“You were brilliant, Kreacher.” The Doctor grinned,

“Yeah, you’ve done really well, Kreacher.” Harry agreed, and the elf bowed low. “Right, we’ve got a few questions for you,” Harry told Mundungus, who shouted at once,  
“I panicked, okay? I never wanted to come along, no offense, mate, but I never volunteered to die for you, an’ that was bleedin’ You-Know-Who come flying at me, anyone woulda got outta there, I said all along I didn’t wanna do it –”

“For your information, none of the rest of us Disapparated,” said Hermione.

“Well, you’re a bunch of bleedin’ ‘eroes then, aren’t you, but I never pretended I was up for killing meself –”

“We’re not interested  in why you ran out on Mad-Eye,” said Harry, moving his wand a little closer to Mundungus’s baggy, bloodshot eyes. “We already knew you were an unreliable bit of scum.”

“Well then, why the ‘ell am I being ‘unted down by ‘ouse-elves? Or is this about them goblets either, although you’re getting warmer,” said Harry. “Shut up and listen.” Harry took a breath, “When you cleaned out this house of anything valuable,” Harry began, but Mundungus interrupted him again.

“Sirius never cared about any of the junk –”

There was the sound of pattering feet, and blaze of shining copper, and echoing clang, and a shriek of agony: Kreacher had taken a run at Mundungus and hit him over the head with a saucepan. “Call ‘im off, call ‘im off, ‘e should be locked up!” screamed Mundungus, cowering as Kreacher raised the heavy-bottomed pan again.

“Kreacher, no!” shouted Harry. Kreacher’s thin arms trembled with the weight of the pan, still held aloft.

“Perhaps just one more, Master Harry, for luck?” Ron laughed.

“We need him conscious, Kreacher, but if he needs persuading you can do the honors,” said Harry.

“Thank you very much, Master,” said Kreacher with a bow, and he retreated a short distance, his great pale eyes still fixed upon Mundungus with loathing.

“When you stripped this house of all the valuables you could find,” Harry began again, “you took a bunch of stuff from the kitchen cupboard. There was a locket there. What did you do with it?”

“Why?” asked Mundungus. “Is it valuable?”

“You’ve still got it!” cried Hermione,

“No, he hasn’t,” The Doctor said shrewdly. “He’s wondering whether he should have asked more money for it.”

“More?” said Mundungus. “That wouldn’t have been effing difficult…bleedin’ gave it away, di’n’ I? No choice.”

“What do you mean?” Harry demanded.

“I was selling in Diagon Alley and she come up to me and asks if I’ve got a license for trading in magical artifacts. Bleedin’ snoop/ She was gonna fine me, but she took a fancy to the locket an’ told me she’d take it and let me off that time, and to fink meself lucky.”

“Who was she?” The Doctor asked,

“I dunno, some Ministry hag.” Mundungus considered for a moment, brow wrinkled. “Little woman. Bow on top of ‘er head.” He frowned and then added, “Looked like a toad.”

Harry gasped staring at Ron and Hermione who also showed clear signs of recognition, “It can’t be…”


	9. Magic is Might

As August wore on, the square of unkempt grass in the middle of Grimmauld Place shriveled in the sun until it was brittle and brown. The inhabitants of number twelve were never seen by anybody in the surrounding houses, and nor was number twelve itself. The Muggles who lived in Grimmauld Place had long since accepted the amusing mistake in the numbering that had caused number eleven to sit beside number thirteen.

And yet the square was now attracting visitors who seemed to find the anomaly most intriguing. Barely a day passed without one or two people arriving in Grimmauld Place with no other purpose, or so it seemed, than to lean against the railings facing numbers eleven and thirteen, watching the join between the two houses. The lurkers were never the same two days running, although they all seemed to share a dislike for normal clothing. Most of the Londoners who passed them were used to eccentric dressers and took little notice, though occasionally one of them might glance back, wondering why anyone would wear such long cloaks in this heat.

The watchers seemed to be gleaning little satisfaction from their vigil. Occasionally one of them started forward excitedly, as if they had seen something interesting at last, only to fall back looking disappointed.

On the first day of September there were more people lurking in the square than ever before. Half a dozen men in long cloaks stood silent and watchful, gazing aas ever at the houses eleven and thirteen, but the thing for which they were waiting still appeared elusive. As evening drew in, bringing with it an unexpected gust of chilly rain for the first time in weeks, there occurred one of those unexplicable moments when they had appeared to have seen something interesting. The man with the twisted face pointed and his closest companion, a podgy, pallid man, started forward, but a moment later they had relaxed into their previous state of inactivity, looking frustrated and disappointed.

Meanwhile, inside number twelve, the Doctor had just entered the hall. He had been using Harry’s Invisibility Cloak to get out and in, but he was the only one of the four who could walk around without fear of being recognized. Shutting the front door carefully behind him, he pulled off the Cloak, draped it over his arm, and hurried along the gloomy hallway toward the door that led to the basement, a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ clutched in his hand.

The usual low whisper of “ _Severus Snape?_ ” greeted him, the chill of wind swept him, and his tongue rolled up for a moment.

“I didn’t kill you,” he said, once it had unrolled, then watched as the dusty figure exploded. He waited until he was halfway down the stairs to the kitchen and clear of the dust cloud, before calling “I’ve got the paper, and you won’t like it!”

The kitchen was almost unrecognizable. Every surface now shone: Copper pots and pans had been burnished to a rosy glow; the wooden tabletop gleamed; the goblets and plates already laid for dinner glinted in the light from a merrily blazing fire, on which a cauldron was simmering. Nothing in the room, however, was more dramatically different than the house-elf who now came hurrying toward Harry, dressed in a snowy-white towel, his ear hair as clean and fluffy as cotton wool, Regulus’s locket bouncing on his thin chest.

“Shoes off, if you please, Master Doctor, his hands washed before dinner,” croaked Kreacher, seizing the Invisibility Cloak and slouching off to hang it on a hook on the wall, beside a number of old-fashioned robes that had been freshly laundered.

“What’s happened?” Harry asked apprehensively, He, Ron, and Hermione had been pouring over a sheaf of scribbled notes and hand-drawn maps that littered the end of the long kitchen table, but now they watched the Doctor as he strode toward them and handed them the newspaper on top of their scattered parchment.

A picture of a hook-nosed, black-haired man stared up at them all, beneath a headline that read:

 

**SEVERUS SNAPE CONFIRMED AS HOGWARTS HEADMASTER**

 

“No!” Harry, Ron, and Hermione shouted loudly. Hermione was quickest; she snatched  up the newspaper and began to read the accompanying story out loud.

“‘ _Severus Snape, long-standing Potions master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was today appointed headmaster in the most important of several staffing changes at the ancient school. Following the resignation of the previous Muggle Studies teacher, Alecto Carrow will take over the post while her brother, Amycus, fills the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts professor._

“‘ _I welcome the opportunity to uphold our finest Wizarding traditions and values –_ ’ Like committing murder and cutting off people’s ears, I suppose! Snape, headmaster! Snape in Dumbledore’s study – Merlin’s pants!” she shrieked. She leapt up from the table and hurtled from the room, shouting as she went, “I’ll be back in a minute!”

“‘Merlin’s pants’?” repeated Ron, looking amused. “She must be upset.” He pulled the newspaper toward him and perused the article about Snape.

“The other teachers won’t stand for this. McGonagall and Flitwick and Sprout all know the truth, they know how Dumbledore died. They won’t accept Snape as headmaster. And who are these Carrows?”

“Death Eaters,” said Harry. “There are pictures of them inside. They were at the top of the tower when Snape killed Dumbledore, so it’s all friends together. And,” Harry went on bitterly as the Doctor drew up a chair, “I can’t see that the other teachers have got any choice but to stay. If the Ministry and Voldemort are behind Snape it’ll be a choice between staying and teaching, or a nice few years in Azkaban – and that’s if they’re lucky. I reckon they’ll stay and try and protect the students.”

Kreacher came bustling to the table with a large tureen in his hands, and ladled out soup into pristine bowls, whistling between his teeth as he did so. “Thanks, Kreacher,” sad Harry, flipping over the _Prophet_ , “Well, at least we know exactly where Snape is now.”

“There are still a load of Death Eaters watching the house,” the Doctor said, “more than usual.” Harry laughed coldly,

“It’s as if they’re hoping we’ll march out carrying our school trunks and head off for the Hogwarts Express.” Ron glanced at his watch,

“I’ve been thinking about that all day. It left nearly six hours ago. Weird, not being on it, isn’t it?” Harry shrugged, deep in thought. “Oh, here she is,” said Ron, craning around in his seat to watch Hermione reentering the kitchen. “And what in the name of Merlin’s most baggy Y Fronts was that about?”

“I remembered this,” Hermione panted. She was carrying a large, framed picture, which she now lowered to the floor before seizing her small, beaded bag from the kitchen sideboard. Opening it, she proceeded to force the painting inside. “Phineas Nigellus,” Hermione explained as she threw the bag onto the kitchen table with the usual sonorus, clanking crash.

“Who?” The Doctor looked at Hermione,

“He was a headmaster of Hogwarts,” Hermione explained, “So he can travel from his painting here to the one at Hogwarts and tell Snape what we’re doing.”

“Good thinking!” said Ron, looking impressed,

“Thank you,” smiled Hermione, pulling her soup toward her. “So Doctor, what else happened today?”

“Nothing,” the Doctor said, “I kept an eye n the Ministry entrance for seven hours thirteen minutes and fifty-four seconds and there was no sign of a ‘short, toadlike witch in pink.’ Saw your dad, though, Ron. He looks well.” Ron nodded his appreciation of this news. They had agreed that it was far too dangerous to try and communicate with Mr. Weasley while he walked in and out of the Ministry, because he was always surrounded by other Ministry workers. It was, however, reassuring to catch glimpses of him, even if he did look very strained and anxious.

“Dad always told us most Ministry people use the Floo Network to get to work,” Ron said. “That’s why we haven’t seen Umbridge, she’d never walk, she’d think she’s too important.”

“And what about that funny old witch and the little wizard in the navy robes?” Hermione asked,

“Oh yeah, the bloke from Magical Maintenance,” said Ron.

“How do you know he works for Magical Maintenance?” Hermione asked, her spoon suspended in midair.

“Dad said everyone from Magical Maintenance wears navy blue robes.”

“But you never told us that!” Hermione dropped her spoon and pulled toward her the sheaf of notes and maps that she, Ron, and Harry had been examining when the Doctor had entered the kitchen. “There’s nothing in here about navy blue robes, nothing!” she said, flipping feverishly through the pages.

“Well, does it really matter?” Ron asked,

“Ron, it _all_ matters! If we’re going to get into the Ministry and not give ourselves away when they’re _bound_ to be on the lookout for intruders, every little detail matters! We’ve been over and over this, I mean, what’s the point of all these reconnaissance trips if you aren’t even bothering to tell us –”

“Blimey, Hermione, I forget one little thing –”

“You do realize, don’t you, that there’s probably no more dangerous place in the whole world for us to be right now than the Ministry of –”

“I wouldn’t be too concerned, I’ve just walked into places loads of times. I’ve got Psychic Paper.”

“What’s Psychic Paper?” Hermione asked,

“Tricks the mind into seeing whatever I want them to see. I use it mostly for identification and getting into secure places.”

“Oh wow, that’s brilliant!” Hermione said, “What other kinds of stuff do you have?”

“Well, I’ve got my Sonic, some brainy specs, a yo-yo, a stethoscope,” The Doctor began emptying his pockets, “A machine that goes ding, a magnifying glass, a crystal from Zathos XIV, a communication cube, sixteen meters of wire, TARDIS key, six rubies from Abtos, four stecks from Buri…”

“You’ve got an Undetectable Extension Charm on your pockets?” Hermione asked,

“No, no, no…” The Doctor said, “Time Lord technology.”

“I think we should go to the Ministry tomorrow.” Harry suddenly said. Hermione stopped dead, her jaw hanging; Ron choked a little over his soup; the Doctor nodded in agreement,

“Tomorrow?” Repeated Hermione, “You aren’t serious, Harry?”

“I am,” said Harry. “I don’t think we’re going to be much better prepared than we are now even if we sulk around the Ministry entrance for another month. The longer we put it off, the farther away that locket could be. There’s already a good chance Umbridge has chucked it away; the thing doesn’t open.”

“I agree.” The Doctor said,

“We know everything important,” Harry continued, “We know they’ve stopped Apparition in and out of the Ministry. We know only the most senior Ministry members are allowed to connect their homes to the Floo Network now, because Ron heard hose two Unspeakables complaining about it. And we know roughly where Umbridge’s office is, because of what you heard that bearded bloke saying to his mate –”

“ _I’ll be up on level one, Dolores wants to see me,_ ’” Hermione recited immediately.

“Exactly,” said Harry. “And we know you get in using those funny coins, or tokens, or whatever they are, because I saw that witch borrowing one from her friend –”

“But we haven’t got any!” Hermione said,

“If the plan works, we will have,” Harry continued calmly,  
“I don’t know, Harry, I don’t know…There are an awful lot of things that could go wrong, so much relies on chance…”

“I live my life relying on chance,” The Doctor grinned,

“Plus, that’ll be true even if we spend another three months preparing.” Harry said, “It’s time to act.”

The Doctor could tell from Ron and Hermione’s faces that they were scared. They had spent the previous four weeks taking it in turns to don the Invisibility Cloak and spy on the official entrance to the Ministry, which Ron, thanks to Mr. Weasley, had known since childhood. They had tailed Ministry workers on their way in, eavesdropped on their conversations, and learned by careful observation which of them could be relied upon to appear, alone, at the same time every day. Occasionally there had been a chance to sneak a _Daily Prophet_ out of somebody’s briefcase. Slowly, they had built up a sketchy map and notes now stacked in front of Hermione.

“All right,” said Ron slowly, “let’s say we go for it tomorrow…I think it should just be me, Harry, and the Doctor.”

“Oh, don’t start that again!” sighed Hermione. “I thought we’d settled this.”

“It’s one thing hanging around the entrances under the Cloak, but this is different, Hermione.” Ron jabbed a finger at a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ dated ten days previously. “You’re on the list of Muggle-borns who didn’t present themselves for interrogation!”

“And you’re supposed to be dying of spattergroit at the Burrow! If anyone shouldn’t go, it’s Harry, he’s got a ten-thousand-Galleon price on his head –”

“Fine, I’ll stay here,” said Harry. “Let me know if you ever defeat Voldemort, won’t you?” As Ron and Hermione laughed, the Doctor noticed Harry’s hand jump to his scar.

“Harry, can I talk to you in private?” The Doctor asked quickly, Harry nodded and allowed the Doctor to drag him out of the room and into the bathroom, bolting the door. The Doctor placed his hands on Harry’s temples and was dragged into a vision.

The Doctor watched as the thin figure of Voldemort was gliding along a twilit street. The buildings on either side of them had high, timbered gables; they looked like gingerbread houses. Voldemort approached one of the houses, then extended a hand and knocked. The door opened: A laughing woman stood there. Her face fell as she looked into Voldemort’s face: humor gone, terror replacing it.

“Gregorovitch?” said Voldemort’s high, cold voice. She shook her head: She was trying to close the door, but Voldemort’s white hand held it steady, preventing her from shutting him out, “I want Gregorovitch.”

“ _Er wohnt hier nicht mehr_!” (He does not live here anymore) She cried in German, shaking her head. “He no live here! He no live here! I know him not!”

Abandoning the attempt to close the door, she began to back away down the dark hall, and the Doctor watched Voldemort follow, gliding toward her, drawing his wand. “Where is he?”

“ _Das weiß ich nicht!”_ (I do not know that) She cried, “He move! I know not, I know not!” Voldemort raised his wand. She screamed. Two young children came running down the hall. She tried to shield them with her arms. There was a flash of green light.

The Doctor finally pushed the force out of Harry’s head, then retracted himself. He cursed in Gallifreyan, “Rassilon, it takes forever to do that, it’s this stupid kid brain! It’s too small! I’ve got too much information to fit in this tiny head!” Harry stared at the Doctor,

“Long story, now, I need you to be honest with me, are you trying to stop these mental attacks?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I want to use it. I want to know why he’s after Gregorovitch.” The Doctor nodded in acceptance,  
“That’s not what I think is best, but it is your head. If you’d like, I can be there to try and keep the mental wound from dilating.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked,

“Think of your mind as a sphere. When Voldemort first made the connection with you, he pricked a hole, and every time he invades your mind, he’s making that hole bigger and bigger, making it easier for him to get in.”

“Oh.” Harry looked at him, “And you think you could stop it from getting any bigger?”

“Yes.” Harry nodded, “We should get back to Ron and Hermione before they get suspicious, or, more suspicious than they already are.”

“Right, Hermione’ll have a fit if she figures out I’m not trying to close my mind.” Harry said and they made their way out of the bathroom.

“What was that about?” Hermione asked when they returned,

“Oh, nothing important.” The Doctor waved it away, “Now, about that Polyjuice Potion you said you had.”

They did not get to bed until late that night, after spending hours going over and over their plan (mostly just to humor Hermione, as not only did the Doctor never listen to plans, but he had also memorized it the first time). Harry had gone off the sleep in Sirius’s room.

The next morning, Ron went to wake Harry as the Doctor and Hermione took inventory, “Robes, Polyjuice Potion, Invisibility Cloak, Decoy Detonators, Puking Pastilles, Nosebleed Nougat, Extendable Ears…”

They made their way onto the front step with immense caution: They could see a couple of puffy-eyed Death Eaters watching the house from across the misty square. Hermione disapparated with Ron first under the cloak, then came back for Harry, then for the Doctor. They found themselves in the tiny alleyway where the first phase of their plan was scheduled to take place. It was as yet deserted, except for a couple of large bins; the first Ministry workers did not usually appear here until at least eight o’clock. “Right then,” said Hermione, checking her watch. “She ought to be here in about five minutes. When I’ve stunned her –”

“Hermione, we know,” said Ron sternly. “And I thought we were supposed to open the door before she got here?” Hermione squealed.  
“I nearly forgot! Stand back –” She pointed her wand at the padlocked and heavily graffitied fire door beside them, but before she could cast the spell, the Doctor pulled out his Sonic and it clicked open. Hermione pulled the door back toward her, to make it look as though it was still closed. “And now,” she said, turning back to face the other two in the alleyway, “we put on the Cloak again –”

“– and we wait,” Ron finished, throwing it over Hermione’s head like a blanket over a birdcage and rolling his eyes at the Doctor and Harry.

Little more than a minute later, there was a tiny _pop_ and a little Ministry witch with flyaway gray hair Apparated feet from them, blinking a little in the sudden brightness; the sun had just come out from behind a cloud. She barely had time to enjoy the unexpected warmth, however, before Hermione’s silent Stunning Spell hit her in the chest and she toppled over. “Nicely done, Hermione,” said Ron, emerging from behind a bin as Harry took off the Invisibility Cloak. Together they carried the witch into the dark passageway. Hermione plucked a few hairs from the witch’s hairs from the witch’s head and added them to a flask of muddy Polyjuice Potion she had taken from her beaded bag. Ron was rummaging through the little witch’s handbag.

“She’s Mafalda Hopkirk,” he said, reading a small card that identified the witch as an assistant in the Improper Use of Magic Office. “You’d better take this, Hermione, and here are the tokens.” He passed her several small golden coins, all embossed with the letters M.O.M., which he had taken from the witch’s purse. Hermione drank the Polyjuice Potion, which was now a pleasant heliotrope colour, and within seconds stood before them, the double of Mafalda hopkirk. As she removed Mafalda’s spectacles and put them on, the Doctor looked at Harry,

“Mr. Magical Maintenance will be here any second.”

“How do you –? Nevermind. Come on.” Harry dove under the Cloak and the Doctor and Ron behind the bin. Seconds later, there was another _pop_ , and a small, ferrety-looking wizard appeared before them.

“Oh, hello, Mafalda.”

“Hello!” said Hermione in a quavery voice. “How are you today?”

“Not so good, actually,” replied the little wizard, who looked thoroughly downcast.

“I’m sorry to hear you’re under the weather,” said Hermione, “Here, have a sweet.”

“Eh? Oh, no thanks –”

“I insist!” said Hermione rather aggressively, shaking the bag of pastilles in his face. Looking rather alarmed, the little wizard took one.

The effect was instantaneous. The moment the pastille touched his tongue, the little wizard started vomiting so hard that he did not even notice as Hermione yanked a handful of hairs from the top of his head. “Oh dear!” she said, as he splattered the alley with sick. “Perhaps you’d better take the day off!”

“No – no!” He choked and retched, trying to continue on his way despite being unable to walk straight. “I must – today – must go –”

“But that’s just silly!” said Hermione, alarmed. “You can’t go to work in this state – I think you ought to go to St. Mungo’s and get them to sort you out!” The wizard collapsed, heaving, onto all fours, still trying to crawl toward the main street. “You simply can’t go to work like this!” Cried Hermione.

At last he seemed to accept the truth of her words. Using a repulsed Hermione to claw his way back into a standing position, he turned on the spot and vanished, leaving nothing behind but the bag Ron had snatched from his hand as he went and some flying chunks of vomit.

“Urgh,” said Hermione, holding up the skirts of her robe to avoid the puddles of sick. “It would have made much less mess to Stun him too.”

“Yeah,” said Ron, “but I still think a whole pile of unconscious bodies would have drawn more attention. Keen on his job, though, isn’t he? Chuck us the hair and the potion, then.”

“No more attention than one unconscious body.” The Doctor pointed out, handing Ron the potion.

Within two minutes, Ron stood before them, as small and ferrety as the sick wizard, and wearing the navy blue robes that had been folded in his bag. “Weird he wasn’t wearing them today, wasn’t it, seeing how much he wanted to go? Anyway, I’m Reg Cattermole, according to the label in the back.

“Now wait here,” Hermione told Harry, who was still under the Invisibility Cloak, “and we’ll be back with some hairs for you.” The Doctor decided to wait with Harry for the last hairs, as the Doctor wouldn’t need a disguise.

“We don’t know who he is,” said Hermione once she and Ron had returned, “but he’s gone home with a dreadful nosebleed.” She handed Harry a number of hairs,  “He’s pretty tall, you’ll need bigger robes…” She pulled out a set of old robes Kreacher had laundered for them, and Harry retired to take the potion and change.

“Are you sure you don’t need a disguise, Doctor?” Hermione asked, “You look too young, won’t they know you’re supposed to be at Hogwarts?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, I’ve got a plan.” The Doctor grinned,

“What’s your plan?” Hermione asked,  
“I’ll let you know when I come up with it.”

Harry rejoined the others, he was a six foot tall, powerfully built man with a beard. “Blimey, that’s scary,” said Ron, looking up at Harry,

“Take one of Mafalda’s tokens.” Hermione told Harry and the Doctor, “and let’s go, it’s nearly nine.”

They stepped out of the alleyway together, Fifty yards along the crowded pavement there were spiked black railings flanking two flights of steps, one labeled GENTLEMEN, and the other LADIES. “See you in a moment, then,” said Hermione nervously, and she tottered off down the steps to LADIES. Harry, Ron, and the Doctor joined a number of oddly dressed men descending into what appeared to be an ordinary underground public toilet, tiled in grimy black in white.

“Morning, Reg!” called another wizard in navy blue robes as he let himself into a cubical by inserting his golden token into a slot in the door. “Blooming pain in the bum, this, eh? Forcing us all to get to work this way! Who are they expecting to turn up, Harry Potter?”  The wizard roared with laughter at his own wit, and Ron gave a forced chuckle.

“Yeah,” he said, “Stupid, isn’t it?” He, the Doctor, and Harry let themselves into adjoining cubicles.

“We have to flush ourselves in?” Ron whispered to the Doctor’s left,

“It looks like it,” the Doctor said, sensing the psychic energy emitting from the bowl. Passing the message to Harry, the three of them stood up and clambered into the toilet.

The moment he had done this, he knew he had done the right thing; though he appeared to be standing in water, his shoes, feet, and trousers remained quite dry. He reached up, pulled the chain, and the next moment had zoomed down a short chute, emerging out of a fireplace into the Ministry of Magic.

He jumped up, arriving in the great Atrium. A gigantic statue of black stone dominated the scene. This vast sculpture of a witch and a wizard sitting on thrones of humans: hundreds and hundreds of naked bodies, men women, and children, all with rather stupid, ugly faces, twisted and pressed together to support the weight of the handsomely robed wizards. These wizards were looking down at Ministry worker toppling out of fireplaces below them. Engraved in foot-high letter at the base of the stature were the words MAGIC IS MIGHT. This was the reason the Doctor didn’t spend his time helping wizards. Disgusted, the Doctor made his way over to Harry, gesturing for him and Ron to join the stream of witches and wizards moving toward the golden gates at the end of the hall, looking around as surreptitiously as possible, but there was no sign of Dolores Umbridge. They passed through the gates and into a smaller hall, where queues were forming in front of twenty golden grilles housing as many lifts. They had barely joined the nearest one when a voice said, “Cattermole!”

They looked around to see a man striding toward them. The Ministry workers beside them fell silent, their eyes downcast. Someone in the crowd around the lifts called sycophantically, “Morning, Yaxley!” Yaxley ignored them.

“I requested somebody from Magical Maintenance to sort out my office, Cattermole. It’s still raining in there.” Ron looked around as though hoping somebody else would intervene, but nobody spoke.

“Raining…in your office? That’s – that’s not good, is it?” Ron gave a nervous laugh. Yaxley’s eyes widened.

“You think it’s funny, Cattermole, do you?” A pair of witches broke away from the queue for the lift and bustled off.

“No,” said Ron, “no, of course –”

“You realize that I am on my way downstairs to interrogate your wife, Cattermole? In fact, I’m quite surprised you’re not down there holding her hand while she waits. Already given her up as a bad job, have you? Probably wise. Be sure and marry a pureblood next time.” The Doctor was bursting with anger, but kept in in check as not to blow their cover.

“I – I –” stammered Ron.

“But if _my_ wife were accused of being a Mudblood,” said Yaxley, “– not that any woman I married would ever be mistaken for such filth – and the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement needed a job doing, I would make it my priority to do that job, Cattermole. Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” whispered Ron.

“Then attend to it, Cattermole, and if my office is not completely dry within an hour, your wife’s Blood Status will be in even graver doubt than it is now.”

He gave an unpleasant smile to Harry, who was evidently expected to appreciate this treatment of Cattermole, then looked down at the Doctor, “Who are you?”

“I’m his assistant.” He said, gesturing at Harry, Yaxley shrugged, and turned away just as the golden grille before them clattered open. The Doctor, Harry, Ron, and Hermione entered theirs, but nobody followed them: It was as if they were infectious. The grilles shut with a clang and the lift began to move upward.

“What am I going to do?” Ron asked the other three at once; he looked stricken. “If I don’t turn up, my wife – I mean, Cattermole’s wife –”

“Try Finite Incantatem,” said Hermione, “that should stop the rain if it’s a hex or curse; if it doesn’t, something’s gone wrong with an Atmospheric Charm, which will be more difficult to fix –”

“Try Meteolojinx Recanto.” The Doctor said, “That should stop it.” Ron nodded as the lift juddered to a halt.

A disembodied female voice said, “Level four, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, incorporating Beast, Being, and Spirit Divisions, Goblin Liaison Office, and Pest Advisory Bureau,” and the grilles slid open again, admitting a couple of wizards and several pale violent paper airplanes that fluttered around the lamp in the ceiling of the lift. “Morning Albert,” said a bushily whiskered man, smiling at Harry. He glanced at the Doctor with curiosity, but said nothing about it. The wizard leaned over to Harry and muttered, “Dirk Cresswell, eh? From Goblin Liaison? Nice one, Albert. I’m pretty confident I’ll get his job now!” He winked. Harry smiled back, and the lift stopped: the grilles opened once more. “Level two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services,” said the disembodied witch’s voice.

The Doctor saw Hermione give Ron a little push and he hurried out of the lift, followed by the other wizards, leaving the Doctor, Harry, and Hermione. The moment the golden door had closed Hermione said, very fast, “Actually, I think I’d better go after him, I don’t think he knows what he’s doing and if he gets caught the whole thing –”

“Level one, Minister of Magic and Support Staff.” The golden grilles slid apart again and Hermione gasped. Four people stood before them, two of them deep in conversation: a long-haired wizard wearing magnificent robes of black and gold, and a squat, toadlike witch wearing a velvet bow on her short hair and clutching a clipboard to her chest.


	10. The Muggle-Born Registration Commission

“Ah, Mafalda!” said Umbridge, looking at Hermione. “Travers sent you, did he?”

“Y-yes,” squeaked Hermione.

“Good, you’ll do perfectly well.” Umbridge spoke to the wizard in black and gold. “That the problem solved, Minister, if Mafalda can be spared for record-keeping we shall be able to start straightaway.” She consulted her clipboard. “Ten people today and one of them the wife of a Ministry employee! Tut, tut… even here, in the heart of the Ministry!” She stepped into the lift beside Hermione, as did the two wizards who had been listening to Umbridge’s conversation with the Minister. “We’ll go straight down, Mafalda, you’ll find everything you need in the courtroom. Good morning, Albert, aren’t you getting out?”

“Yes, of course,” said Harry, stepping out, the Doctor in tow. The golden grilles clanged shut behind them. Glancing over his shoulder, the Doctor saw Hermione’s anxious face sinking back out of sight, a tall wizard on either side of her, Umbridge’s velvet hair-bow level with her shoulder.

“What brings you up here, Runcorn?” asked the new Minister of Magic. His long black hair and beard were streaked with silver, and a great overhanging forehead shadowned his glinting eyes, “And who are you?” He looked at the Doctor,

“I’m –” The Doctor reached for a Slytherin-sounding name, aware that they often used old English names and constellation or star names, “ – Cygnus Arkwright. I’m Mr. Runcorn’s Assistant.”

“Shouldn’t you be at Hogwarts?” Thicknesse asked suspiciously,

“Yes, I’ve completed my years early and have been put on a special task by the higher up.” He flashed his psychic paper,

“Right, of course.” Thicknesse said, “Well, good day to you two.”

“Good day, Minister.” The Doctor and Harry said, watching Thicknesse march away along the thickly carpeted corridor. The moment the Minister had passed out of sight, the Doctor and Harry tugged the Invisibility Cloak over themselves, it barely covered them, making Harry stoop quite low. The Doctor was well aware that the plan wasn’t going to work at this point, none of them had taken into account the idea of being seperated, but this was what the Doctor was good at; making a plan as he went.

They emerged into a wide, open space where a dozen witches and wizards sat in rows at small desks not unlike school desks, though highly polished. They were all waving and twiddling their wands in unison, and squares of coloured paper were flying in every direction like little pink kites. There was a rhythm to the proceedings, that the papers all formed the same pattern; he was watching the creation of pamphlets which, when assembled, folded, and magicked into place, fell into neat stacks beside each witch or wizard. The Doctor signaled to Harry to move closer. He slid a completed pamphlet from the pile beside a young witch. He examined it beneath the Invisibility Cloak. It’s pink cover was emblazoned with a golden title:

 

_MUDBLOODS_

_And the Dangers They Pose to_

_A Peaceful Pure-Blood Society_

 

Beneath the title was a picture of a red rose with a simpering face in the middle of its petals, being strangled by a green weed with fangs and a scowl. Disgusted, the Doctor looked to the woman who was making them, who, still waving and twirling her wand, said, “Will the old hag be interrogating Mudbloods all day, does anyone know?”

“Careful,” said the wizard beside her, glancing around nervously; one of his pages slipped and fell to the floor.

“What, has she got magic ears as well as an eye, now?” The witch glanced toward the shining mahogany door facing the space full of pamphlet-makers; the Doctor looked too and was once more repulsed when he saw that where there might have been a peephole on a Muggle front door, a large, round eye with a bright blue iris had been set into the wood. Harry began to move, the Doctor made sure to keep up as he strode right up to the door to examine the eye. It was not moving: It gazed blindly upward, frozen. The plaque beneath it read:

 

**DOLORES UMBRIDGE**

SENIOR UNDERSECRETARY TO THE MINISTER

 

Below that, a slightly shinier new plaque read:

 

HEAD OF THE MUGGLE-BORN

REGISTRATION COMMISSION

 

The Doctor watched Harry pull out a Decoy Detonator, with a nod of confirmation from the Doctor, Harry placed it on the ground. It scuttled away at once through the legs of the witches and wizards in front of them. A few moments later, during which the Doctor and Harry waited, Harry’s hand on the doorknob, there came a loud bang and a great deal of acrid black smoke billowed from a corner. The young witch in the front row shrieked: Pink pages flew everywhere as she and her fellows jumped up, looking around for the source of the commotion. Harry turned the doorknob and they stepped into Umbridge’s office, closing the door behind them.

The room had lace draperies, doilies, and dried flowers covering ever available surface. The walls bore ornamental plates, each featuring a highly coloured beribboned kitten, gamboling and frisking. The desk was covered with a flouncing, flowered cloth. Behind the eye, a telescopic attachment enabled Umbridge to spy on the works on the other side of the door. The Doctor, removing the cloak, took a look through it and saw that they were all still gathered around the Decoy Detonator. “That’s Mad-Eye’s eye.” Harry said, the Doctor looked at him,

“He’s the one who died just as I arrived,” The Doctor said,

“Yes,” Harry nodded, “They took his body.” Harry walked over and grabbed the eye, “ _Accio Locket_.”

“It’s not in here,” The Doctor said, but Harry, who had been searching through a file cabinet paused,

“Come look at this.” The Doctor made his way to him. He was holding Mr. Weasley’s file.

 

**ARTHUR WEASLEY**

* * *

 

 _BLOOD STATUS:_ Pureblood, but with unacceptable pro-Muggle learnings.

Known member of the Order of the Phoenix.

 

 _FAMILY:_ Wife (pureblood), seven children, two youngest at

Hogwarts. NB: Youngest son currently at home, seriously ill, Ministry inspectors have confirmed.

 

 _SECURITY STATUS:_ TRACKED. All movements are being monitored. Strong

likelihood Undesirable No. 1 will contact (has stayed with Weasley family previously)

 

“Undesirable Number One,” Harry muttered under his breath as he replaced the folder and shut the drawer. On the wall, there was a poster of Harry with the words UNDESIRABLE NO. 1 emblazoned across his chest. A little pink note was stuck to it with a picture of a kitten in the corner, on it was written, “ _To be punished_.”

The Doctor watched as Harry crossed the room and picked up a book. Written across Dumbledore’s hat in curly green writing was – _The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore_ – and slightly smaller writing across his chest: “by Rita Skeeter, bestselling author of _Armando Dippet: Master or Moron?_ ” The Doctor grabbed the Invisibility Cloak and threw it over them, just as Thicknesse walked into the room. The Minister looked around, then made his way to Umbridge’s desk and pointed his wand at the quill standing ready in the ink pot. It sprang out and began scribbling a note to Umbridge. Very slowly, the Doctor pulled Harry out of the office and into the open area beyond.

The pamphlet-makers were still clustered around the remains of the Decoy Detonator, which continued to hoot feebly as it smoked. The Doctor and Harry hurried off up the corridor as the young witch said, “I bet it sneaked up here from Experimental Charms, they’re so careless, remember that poisonous duck?”

“Where are we going?” Harry asked as the Doctor dragged him down the hallway,

“To the lifts.” The Doctor said,

“Then what are we going to do?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t figured that part out yet.” The Doctor said, removing the Cloak and jumping in the first empty lift. It started its descent, and when it rattled to a halt and the doors opened, Mr. Weasley stepped inside, talking to an elderly witch,

“…I quite understand what you’re saying, Wakanda, but I’m afraid I cannot be party to –” Mr. Weasley broke off; he had noticed Harry, an angry glare angled towards him, then an even angrier one angled at the Doctor, “What are _you_ doing here?” He demanded, they arrived at another floor and Wakanda left,

“Mr. Runcorn, I think you ought to take the next lift and meet me a few floors down.” The Doctor said, Harry nodded and made his way to lift on his left. The Doctor’s lift closed, leaving him alone with Mr. Weasley.

“I thought you were supposed to be protecting Harry.” Mr. Weasley said accusingly,

“I am. We’re currently breaking into the Ministry, should be out soon.”

“What?” Mr. Weasley stared at him, unsure if he was lying or not,

“Everyone’s fine, we’ve been staying at Grimmauld Place, Ron wants to know how the family’s been.”

“They’ve been well…” Mr. Weasley said finally,

“You’re being watched, Mr. Weasley, they’re watching your every move. Be careful.”

The lift doors opened. They had reached the Atrium. Mr. Weasley gave the Doctor a long look, than swept from the lift, Harry walked in from the lift beside them. “I told him he was being watched,” the Doctor said,  
“Good,” Harry nodded, “So, you got a plan yet?”

“Not quite…”

As they continued to descend, the Doctor felt an unnatural chill creeping over him. He felt the mental attack, but tried to cover it up, throwing up as many walls as possible, “Do you feel that?” Harry asked,

“Yes,” The Doctor said, through clenched teeth, trying to block them out,

“Doctor?” Harry said,

“Fine.” The Doctor said. As they moved out of the lift and closer to the attackers, he heard screams echoing,

“No, no, I’m half-blood, I’m half-blood, I tell you! My father was a wizard, he _was_ , look him up, Arkie Alderton, he’s a well-known broomstick designer, look him up, I tell you – get your hands off me, get your hands off –”

“This is your final warning,” said Umbridge’s soft voice, magically magnified so that it sounded clearly over the man’s desperate screams. “If you struggle, you will be subjected to the Dementor’s Kiss.”

The man’s screams subsided, but dry sobs echoed through the corridor. “Take him away,” said Umbridge, and two hooded creatures appeared in the doorway of the courtroom, their rotting, scabbed hands clutching the upper arms of a wizard who appeared to be fainting. They glided away down the corridor with him, and the darkness they trailed behind them swallowed him from sight. “Next – Mary Cattermole,” called Umbridge.

A small woman stood up; she was trembling from head to foot. Her dark hair was smoothed back into a bun and she wore long, plain robes. Her face was completely bloodless. As she passed the creatures, the Doctor saw her sudder. Returning the Cloak around them, the Doctor led Harry into the room.

There were more creatures (whom the Doctor had finally identified as dementors) in the room, the Doctor threw more unstable and unprepared walls at the dementors. Here, behind a balustrade, sat Umbridge, with Yaxley on one side of her, and Hermione, quite as white-faced as Mrs. Cattermole, on the other. At the foot of the platform, a bright-silver, long-haired cat prowled up and down, up and down, and the Doctor realized it was there to protect the prosecutors from the despair that emanated from the dementors: That was for the accused to feel, not the accusers. The Doctor pulled Harry over to it, so as not to pass out. As they passed the place where the Patronus patrolled, the Doctor felt a change in temperature: It was much warmer here.

“Sit down,” said Umbridge in her soft, silky voice. Mrs. Cattermole stumbled to the single seat in the middle of the floor beneath the raised platform. The movement she had sat down, chains clinked out of the arms of the chair and bound her there. “You are Mary Elizabeth Cattermole?” asked Umbridge. Mrs. Cattermole gave a single shaky nod. “Married to Reginald Cattermole of the Magical Maintenance Department?” Mrs. Cattermole burst into tears.

“I don’t know where he is, he was supposed to meet me here!” Umbridge ignored her.

“Mother of Maisie, Ellie, and Alfred Cattermole?” Mrs. Cattermole sobbed harder than ever.

“They’re frightened, they think I might not come home –”

“Spare us,” spat Yaxley. “The brats of Mudbloods do not stir our sympathies.” Mrs. Cattermole continued to sob as the Doctor moved closer to Hermione,

“I’m behind you,” he whispered.

As he expected, Hermione jumped so violently she nearly overturned the bottle of ink with which she was supposed to be recording the interview, but both Umbridge and Yaxley were concentrating upon Mrs. Cattermole, and this went unnoticed.

“A wand was taken from you upon your arrival at the Ministry today, Mrs. Cattermole,” Umbridge was saying. “Eight-and-three-quarter inches, cherry, unicorn-hair core. Do you recognize that description?” Mrs. Cattermole nodded, mopping her eyes on her sleeve.

“Can you please tell us from which witch or wizard you took that wand?”

“T-took?” sobbed Mrs. Cattermole. “I didn’t t-take it from anybody. I b-bought it when I was eleven years old. It – it – it – _chose_ me.” She cried harder than ever.

Umbridge laughed a soft girlish laugh that evoked a deadly rage in the Doctor. She leaned forward over the barrier, the better to observe her victim, and something gold swung forward too, and dangled over the void: the locket.

Harry elbowed the Doctor, who nodded, and Hermione had seen it too, as she let out a little squeak, but Umbridge and Yaxley, still intent upon their prey, were deaf to everything else.

“No,” said Umbridge, “no, I don’t think so, Mrs. Cattermole. Wands only choose witches or wizards. You are not a witch. I have your responses to the questionnaire that was sent to you here – Mafalda, pass them to me.” Umbridge held out a small hand. Hermione’s hands were shaking with shock. She fumbled in a pile of documents balanced on the chair beside her, finally withdrawing a sheaf of parchment with Mrs. Cattermole’s name on it.

“That’s – that’s pretty, Dolores,” she said, pointing at the pendant gleaming in the ruffled folds of Umbridge’s blouse.

“What?” snapped Umbridge, glancing down. “Oh yes – an old family hairloom,” she said, patting the locket. “The _S_ stands for Selwyn…I am related to the Selwyns…Indeed, there are few pure-blood families to whom I am not related…A pity,” she continued in a louder voice, flicking through Mrs. Cattermole’s questionnaire, “that the same cannot be said for you. _‘Parents’ professions: greengrocers_.”

Yaxley laughed jeeringly. Suddenly, Harry shouted, “ _Stupefy!”_

There was a flash of red light; Umbridge crumpled and her forehead hit the edge of the balustrade: Mrs. Cattermole’s papers slid off her lap onto the floor and, down below, the prowling silver cat vanished. Ice-cold air hit them like an oncoming wind, the Doctor threw his walls back up. Yaxley, confused, looked around for the source of the trouble, “ _Stupefy!”_ The Doctor shouted, Yaxley slid to the ground to lie curled on the floor.

“Harry!” Hermione yelled,

“Hermione, if you thought I was going to sit here and let her pretend –”

“Harry, Hermione! Mrs. Cattermole!” The Doctor shouted (as he was incapable of casting a Patronus himself), catching Harry and Hermione’s attention. The dementors had moved out of their corners; they were gliding toward the woman chained to the chair: Whether because the Patronus had vanished or because they sensed that their masters were no longer in control, they seemed to have abandoned restraint. Mrs. Cattermole let out a terrible scream of fear as a slimy, scabbed hand grasped her chin and forced her face back.

“EXPECTO PATRONUM!” Harry shouted, a silver stag soared from the tip of Harry’s wand and leaped toward the dementors, which fell back and melted into the dark shadows again. The stag’s light, more powerful and more warming than the cat’s protection, filled the whole dungeon as it cantered around and around the room.

Hermione dove for the locket as the Doctor hurried to Mrs. Cattermole, pulling out the Sonic and unlocking the chains. The chains clinked and withdrew into the arms of the chair. Mrs. Cattermole looked just as frightened as ever before. “I don’t understand,” she whispered.

“You’re going to get out of here with us,” The Doctor said, “You’re going to go home, get your children, and get as far away from here as possible.”

“Doctor, how are we going to get out of here with all those dementors outside the door?” Hermione asked,

“Can you cast a Patronus?” The Doctor asked,  
“Yes, what about you?” Hermione asked,  
“I can’t, no time to explain.”

“ _Expec – Expecto Patronum,_ ” said Hermione. Nothing happened.

“It’s the only spell she’s ever had trouble with,” Harry told the Doctor, “Bit unfortunate, really…Come on, Hermione…”

“ _Expecto Patronum!”_

A silver otter burst from the end of Hermione’s wand and swam gracefully through the air to join the stag. “Allons-y!” The Doctor grinned as they hurried to the door.

When the Patronuses glided out of the dungeon there were cries of shock from the people waiting outside. The Doctor looked around; the dementors were falling back on both sides of them, melding into the darkness, scattering before the silver creatures.

“It’s been decided that you should all go home to your families and go into hiding!” The Doctor said to the observing Muggle-borns, who were dazzled by the light of the Patronuses and still cowering slightly. “Get as far away from here as you can.”

“Reg!” Mrs. Cattermole screamed as she threw herself into Ron’s arms. “Runcorn let me out, he attacked Umbridge and Yaxley, and we’ve been told to leave the country, I think we’d better do it, Reg, I really do, let’s hurry home and fetch the children and – why are you so wet?”

“Water,” muttered Ron, “Doctor, they know there are intruders inside the Ministry, something about a hole in Umbridge’s office door, I reckon we’ve got five minutes if that –”

“Alright, Who’s got wands?” The Doctor cut him off, turning back to the group of Muggle-borns, about half of them raised their hands, “Brilliant, all of you who haven’t got a wand, find someone who has.” He turned to Harry as the Muggle-borns followed them into the lifts and they made their way into the Atrium, “Harry, I need you to –”

“I know what to do.” Harry said.

“Level eight,” said the witch’s cool voice, “Atrium.” The room was full of witches and wizards moving from fireplace to fireplace, sealing them off. Harry and the Doctor were the first off the lift. The moment Harry had gotten off, he thundered,

“STOP!” The wizards sealing the fireplaces froze, “Follow me,” he whispered to the group of terrified Muggle-borns, who moved forward in a huddle, shepherded by Ron, Hermione, and the Doctor.

“What’s up, Albert?” said a balding wizard, he looked nervous.

“This lot need to leave before you seal the exits,” said Harry. The group of wizards in front of him looked at one another.

“We’ve been told to seal all the exits and not let anyone –”

“ _Are you contradicting me?”_ Harry blustered. “Would you like me to have you disposed of, like I had Dirk Cresswell?”

“Sorry!” gasped the balding wizard, backing away. “I didn’t mean nothing, Albert, but I thought…I thought they were in for questioning and…”

“Their blood is pure,” said Harry, and his deep voice echoed impressively through the hall. “Purer than many of yours, I daresay. Off you go,” he boomed to the Muggle-borns, who scurried forward into the fireplaces and began to vanish in pairs. The Ministry wizards hung back, some looking confused, others scared and resentful. Then:

“Mary!”

Mrs. Cattermole looked over her shoulder. The real Reg Cattermole, no longer vomiting but pale and wan, had just come running out of a lift.

“R-Reg?”

She looked from her husband to Ron, who swore loudly. The balding wizard gaped, his head turning ludicrously from one Reg Cattermole to the other.

“Get out of here!” The Doctor shouted at Reg and Mrs. Cattermole. Reg looked from the Doctor to his wife, and seemed to get the clear picture of urgency. Grabbing his wife’s hand, they dove into the fireplace and vanished. “Come on!” The Doctor shouted as Yaxley came running into the room. They sprinted to the nearest fireplace, the Doctor grabbing Hermione’s hand, as well as Harry’s, who grabbed Ron’s and they turned on the spot.

Darkness engulfed them, along with the sensation of compression, but something was wrong. He then saw the door of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, with its serpent door knocker, but before he could even draw a breath, there was a scream and a flash of purple light and everything went dark again.


	11. The Theif

The Doctor opened his eyes and was dazzled by gold and green. He was lying on what seemed to be leaves and twigs. Jumping up off his position on the ground, he looked around to find himself in a forest, Harry, Ron, and Hermione still laying on the ground. Ron groaned and the Doctor turned to look at him. The moment his eyes fell upon him, all other concerns fled from his mind; blood drenched the whole of Ron’s left side, his face stood out, grayish-white, against the leaf-strewn earth. The Polyjuice Potion was wearing off now: Ron was halfway between Cattermole and himself in appearance, his hair turning redder and redder as his face drained of the little colour it had left.

Getting straight to work, the Doctor began to try and stop the bleeding as Hermione looked around, gasped, and made her way towards him. “Oh, Ron!” The Doctor continued in silence, his out of practice hands working directly across Ron.

“What’s going on?” Harry had gotten up and dragged himself over, staring at Ron,

“He must have splinched himself.” Hermione said.

As the silence continued Hermione began to talk nervously. “I didn’t know you were a medical doctor, then. Are you? Are people your age doctors and stuff on your planet?”

“Yes,” The Doctor said, “Well, again, I’m over nine-hundred years old, so…”

“Right, right.” Hermione said anxiously, “So is that what you’re doctorate’s in?”

“Well, yes, I’m sort of a Doctor of everything; medicine, science, engineering, candyfloss, Lego, philosophy, music, problems, people…”

“Sorry, can you get doctorates in candyfloss?”

“It’s a long story and a large favor from William Morrison.”

Once the Doctor decided he’d cleaned up Ron a sufficient amount, he pulled out his Sonic Screwdriver and ran it over his body, Hermione and Harry watching as the skin slowly began to stitch itself back together. “It’ll be delicate for a little while, but shouldn’t be a problem.” The Doctor said, “Now, where are we? I thought we were going back to Grimmauld Place?”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, looking at Hermione, who took a deep breath. She looked close to tears.  
“I don’t think we’re going to be able to go back there.”

“Why not?” The Doctor inquired,

“As we Disapparated, Yaxley caught hold of me and I couldn’t get rid of him, he was too strong, and he was still holding on when we arrived at Grimmauld Place, and then – well, I think he must have seen the door, and thought we were stopping there, so he slackened his grip and I managed to shake him off and I brought us here instead!”

“But then,” Harry said, “Where’s he? Hang on…You don’t mean he’s at Grimmauld Place? He can’t get in there?” Hermione’s eyes sparkled with unshed tears as she nodded.

“I think he can. I – I forced him to let go with a Revulsion Jinx, but I’d already taken him inside the Fidelius Charm’s protection. Since Dumbledore died, we’re the Secret-Keepers, so I’ve given him the secret, haven’t I?” The Doctor nodded,

“It’s not your fault, if anything, it’s mine. I should have gotten us out of there quicker.”  
“If anything, it’s _mine_.” Harry said as he pulled the eye out of his pocket, “They wouldn’t have known there were intruders if I hadn’t taken it.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it?” The Doctor said, trying to lift some spirits, “We’ve got the locket now, don’t we?”

Before anyone could answer, Ron groaned and opened his eyes. He was still gray and his face glistened with sweat. “How d’you feel?” Hermione whispered.

“Lousy,” croaked Ron, wincing as he felt his injured arm. “Where are we?”

“In the woods where they held the Quidditch World Cup,” said Hermione. “I wanted somewhere enclosed, undercover, and this was –”

“– brilliant.” The Doctor said, moving around, pulling out his wand and beginning to utter protective enchantments, Hermione stood to join him,

“ _Salvio Hexia_ …”

“ _Protego Totalum_ …”

“ _Repello Muggletum_ …”

“ _Muffliato_ …Doctor, could you get out the tent?” The Doctor nodded, striding over to her bag summoning the tent, which emerged in a lumpy mass of canvas, rope, and poles.

“I thought that belonged to that bloke Perkins at the Ministry?” Harry asked, looking at the tent as the Doctor muttered,

“ _Erecto._ ” And the tent raised in the air, settled, untangled, constructed itself, then lowered to the ground.

“Apparently he didn’t want it back, his lumbago’s so bad,” said Hermione, “So Ron’s dad said I could borrow it.”

“Brilliant,” The Doctor said, looking inside, “Not quite a pocket dimension, but It should work just fine all the same.”

“ _Cave Inimicum_ ,” Hermione finished with a skyward flourish. “That’s as much as I can do. At the very least, we should know if they’re coming, I can’t guarantee it will keep out Vol–”

“Don’t say the name!” Ron cut across her, his voice harsh. The Doctor looked at him,  
“Why not?”

“I’m sorry,” said Ron, “but it feels like a – a jinx or something. Can’t we call him You-Know-Who – please?”

“Dumbledore said fear of the name –” Began Harry,

“No, wait,” The Doctor said, “I’m with Ron on this one, it would be clever…weeding out the boldest of enemies…”

The Doctor helped Ron into the tent, it was a small flat, complete with bathroom and tiny kitchen. Pushing aside an old armchair, he lowered Ron carefully onto the lower bunk bed. “I’ll make some tea,” said Hermione, pulling kettle and mugs from the depths of her bag and heading toward the kitchen. Harry grabbed some firewhisky from Hermione’s bag,

“What d’you reckon happened to the Cattermoles?” He asked,

“With any luck, they’ll have got away,” said Hermione, clutching her hot mug for comfort as she handed one to the Doctor as well as Ron,

“Blimey, I hope they escaped,” said Ron, leaning back on his pillows, “I didn’t get the feeling Reg Cattermole was all that quick-witted, though, the way everyone was talking to me when I was him. I hope they made it…If they both end up in Azkaban because of us…”

“So,” The Doctor jumped up from his position in the chair, “Who’s got the locket?”

“ _You got it?”_ shouted Ron, raising himself a little higher on his pillows. “No one tells me anything! Blimey, you could have mentioned it!”

“Well, we were running for our lives from Death Eaters, weren’t we?” said Hermione. “Here.” She pulled the locket out of the pocket of her robes and handed it to Ron.

It was as large as a chicken’s egg. An ornate letter _S_ , inlaid with many small green stones, glinted dully in the diffused light shining through the tent’s canvas roof. “There isn’t any chance someone’s destroyed it since Kreacher had it?” asked Ron hopefully. “I mean, are we sure it’s still a Horcrux?”

“No, it’s not destroyed yet…” The Doctor said, picking it up,

“What are we going to do with it?” Hermione asked,

“Keep it safe until we can destroy it.” The Doctor said, sliding it into one of his coat pockets.

That evening, the Doctor found himself keeping watch. As the night crept on, the Doctor heard footsteps behind him, he spun around to find Harry there, clutching his scar. The Doctor quickly pressed his fingers to his temple, holding the wound in temporary status lock as the vision played out.

“ _Give it to me, Gregorovitch_.” Voldemort demanded. The man whom he was pointing to was suspended upside down in midair, though there were no ropes holding him; he swung there, invisibly and eerily bound, his limbs wrapped about him, his terrified face, on a level of Voldemort, ruddy due to the blood that had rushed to his head. He had pure-white hair and a thick, bushy beard.

“I have it not, I have it no more! It was, many years ago, stolen from me!”  
“Do not lie to Lord Voldemort, Gregorovitch. He knows…He always knows.” The hanging man’s pupils were wide, dilated with fear, and they seemed to swell, bigger and bigger until their blackness swallowed the Doctor whole –

And suddenly, the Doctor was hurrying along a dark corridor in stout little Gregorovitch’s wake as he held a lantern aloft: Gregorovitch burst into the room at the end of the passage and his lantern illuminated what looked like a workshop; wood shavings and gold gleamed in the swinging pool of light, and there on the window ledge sat perched, like a giant bird, a young man with golden hair. In the split second that the lantern’s light illuminated him, Harry saw the delight upon his handsome face, then the intruder shot a Stunning Spell from his wand and jumped neatly backward out of the window with a crow of laughter.

And the Doctor was hurtling back out of those wide, tunnellike pupils and Gregorovitch’s face was stricken with terror. “ _Who was the thief, Gregorovitch?”_ said the high cold voice.

“ _I do not know, I never knew, a young man – no – please – PLEASE!”_ A scream that went on and on and then a burst of green light.

The Doctor opened his eyes, he looked at Harry, who was sweating, “Do you know who that was?” Harry furrowed his eyebrows,

“I…I think I’ve seen him somewhere…What d’you think you stole?” The Doctor shook his head,

“Must’ve been small…Small enough to fit in his pocket…” Harry took a deep breath,

“And now Gregorovitch is dead.”


	12. The Goblin's Revenge

The Doctor, Harry, Ron, and Hermione all agreed that it was best not to stay anywhere too long. The Doctor and Hermione spent the morning removing the enchantments surrounding the clearing while Ron and Harry obliterated all the marks and impressions on the ground that might show they’d camped there. Then they Disapperated to the outskirts of a small market town. Once they had pitched the tent in the shelter of a small copse of trees and surrounded it with freshly cast defensive enchantments.                    

“So, where to next?” Ron asked,  
“Well, one thought is Albania…” said Harry,

“I thought you said we didn’t have any leads?” the Doctor asked,

“Yes, but Voldemort was supposed to have hidden Horcruxes in places important to him. He spent years of his exile in Albania.”

“Yeah, let’s go to Albania. Shouldn’t take more than an afternoon to search an entire country,” said Ron sarcastically.

“There can’t be anything there. He’d already made five of his Horcruxes before he went into exile, and Dumbledore was certain the snake is the sixth,” said Hermione. “We know the snake’s not in Albania, it’s usually with Vol –"

“ _Didn’t I ask you to stop saying that?”_

“Fine! The snake is usually with _You-Know-Who_ – happy?”

“Not particularly.”

“I can’t see him hiding anything at Borgin and Burkes,” said Harry, who had made this point many times before, but said it again simply to break the nasty silence. “Borgin and Burke were experts at Dark objects, they would’ve recognized a Horcrux straightaway.” Ron yawned pointedly as Harry continued, “I still reckon he might have hidden something at Hogwarts.” The Doctor nodded,

“So is that where we’re going?” The Doctor asked,

“No,” Hermione sighed, “Dumbledore would have found it.”

“Dumbledore said in front of me that he never assumed he knew all of Hogwarts’s secrets. I’m telling you, if there was one place Vol –”

“Oi!”

“YOU-KNOW-WHO then!” Harry shouted, “If there was once place that was really important to You-Know-Who, it was Hogwarts!”

“Oh, come on,” scoffed Ron. “His _school?”_

“Yeah, his school! It was his first real home, the place that meant he was special; it meant everything to him, and even after he left –”

“This is You-Know-Who we’re talking about, right? Not you?” Inquired Ron, who was tugging at the chain of the Horcrux around his neck,

“Yout told us that You-Know-Who asked Dumbledore to give him a job after he left,” said Hermione.  
“That’s right,” said Harry.

“And Dumbledore thought he only wanted to come back and try and find something, probably another founder’s object, to make into another Horcrux?”

“Yeah,” said Harry.

“But he didn’t get the job, did he?” said Hermione. “So he never got the chance to find a founder’s object there and hide it in the school!”

“Alright, not Hogwarts, then.” The Doctor said, “Do we have any other ideas?”

“Godric’s Hollow?” Harry suggested,

“I still don’t think that’s a good idea, Harry.” Hermione said,

“Fine.”

When it was the Doctor’s turn to wear the Horcrux, the moment he put it on, he felt an odd sort of energy rip through him, he immediately threw the offender on the ground,

“Doctor, what is it?” Hermione asked,

“It’s not right…” He said, then attempted to explain, “Time Lords have this energy, this helps us heal and regenerate and such, which is store in our hearts, but the energy in the Horcrux, it’s not just compact, it’s almost like an anti-energy, so when it touches me by my hearts, it’ll sends a string of molecular explosions, it only didn’t just then because my –”

“In other words, you shouldn't wear it.” Hermione said, grabbing the Horcrux, “It’s fine.”

Even without any objective, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the Doctor continued to move through the countryside, pitching the tent in a different place each night for security. Every morning they made sure that they had removed all clues to their presence, then set off to find another lonely and secluded spot, traveling by Apparition to more woods, to the shadowy crevices of cliffs, to purple moors, goose-covered mountainsides, and once a sheltered and pebbly cove. Every twelve hours or so they passed the Horcrux between Harry, Ron, and Hermione, the Doctor watching with regret.

The Doctor noticed Harry wincing in pain much more often when he was wearing the Horcrux, “What do you see?” The Doctor asked,

“A face,” Harry muttered, “The same face. The thief who stole from Gregorovitch.” At this, Ron turned away, making no effort to hide his disappointment. The Doctor was well aware that he was hoping to hear news of his family or the rest of the Order of the Phoenix.

As days stretched into weeks, the Doctor noticed Ron and Hermione talking about Harry without his knowing. They quickly seemed to learn not to talk in front of him either, as he was always the first to tell Harry.

Autumn rolled over the countryside as they moved through it: They were now pitching the tent on mulches of fallen leaves. Natural mists joined those cast by the dementors; wind and rain added to their troubles. The Doctor sat beside Harry, as they kept watch; as Hermione and Ron seemed to get closer together, Harry and the Doctor seemed to as well, and the two groups got further apart. “Do you hear that?” The Doctor suddenly said,

“What?” They listened closely, there was heavy scuffling and scraping noises, plus the sound of dislodged stones and twigs. It sounded as though several people were clambering down the steep, wooded slope that descended to the narrow bank where they had pitched the tent. The Doctor and Harry drew their wands, waiting. The enchantments the Doctor and Hermione had cast around themselves ought to be sufficient, in the near total darkness, to shield them from the notice of Muggles and normal witches and wizards. If these were Death Eaters, however, then perhaps their defences were about to be tested by Dark Magic for the first time.

The voices became louder, they were fewer than twenty feet away. “Can you hear them?” Harry asked, the Doctor nodded,

“Superior Time Lord biology.” The Doctor heard a weary male voice,

“There ought to be a few salmon in here, or d’you reckon it’s too early in the season? _Accio Salmon!”_ There were several distinct splashes and then the slapping sounds of fish against flesh. One voice muttered appreciatively in Gobbledegook, the language of the goblins. Then, in English, the first man spoke again. “Here, Griphook, Gornuk.”

“Thank you,” said the Goblins together in English,

“So, you three have been on the run how long?” asked a new, mellow, and pleasant voice,

“Six weeks…seven…I forgot,” said the tired man. “Met up with Griphook in the first couple of days and joined forces with Gornuk not long after. Nice to have a bit of company.” There was a pause, while knives scraped plates and tin mugs were picked up and replaced on the ground. “What made you leave, Ted?” continued the man.

“Knew they were coming for me,” replied mellow-voiced Ted, “Heard Death Eaters were in the area last week and decided I’d better run for it. Refused to register as a Muggle-born on principle, see, so I knew it was a matter of time, know I’d have to leave in the end. My wife should be okay, she’s a pure-blood. And then I met Dean here, what, a few days ago, son?”

“Yeah,” said another voice,

“Muggle-born, eh?” asked the first man.

“Not sure,” said Dean. “My dad left my mum when I was a kid. I’ve got no proof he was a wizard, though.” There was a silence for a while, except for the sounds of munching; then Ted spoke again.

“I’ve got to say, Dirk, I’m surprised to run into you. Please, but surprised. Word was you’d been caught.”

“I was,” said Dirk. “I was halfway to Azkaban when I made a break for it, Stunned Dawlish, and nicked his broom. It was easier than you’d think; I don’t reckon he’s quite right at the moment. Might be Confunded. If so, I’d like to shake the hand of the witch or wizard who did it, probably saved my life.” There was another pause in which the fire crackled and the river rushed on. Then Ted said, “And where do you two fit in? I, er, had the impression the goblins were for You-Know-Who, on the whole.”

“You had a false impression,” said the higher-voiced of the goblins. “We take no sides. This is a wizards’ war.”

“How come you’re in hiding, then?”

“I deemed it prudent,” said the deeper-voiced goblin. “Having refused what I considered an impertinent request, I could see that my personal safety was in jeopardy.”

“What did they ask you to do?” asked Ted.

“Duties ill-befitting the dignity of my race. I recognize no Wizarding master.” He added “ _There are things wizards do not recognize, either_.” In Gobbledegook, Gornuk laughed,

“What’s the joke?” asked Dean.

“He said,” replied Dirk, “That there are some things wizards don’t recognize, either.” There was a short pause.

“I don’t get it,” said Dean.

“I had my small revenge before I left,” said Griphook in English.

“Good man – goblin, I should say,” amended Ted hastily. “Didn’t manage to lock a Death Eater up in one of the old high-security vaults, I suppose?”

“If I had, the sword would not have helped him break out,” replied Griphook. Gornuk laughed again and even Dirk gave a dry chuckle.

“Dean and I are missing something here,” said Ted.

“So is Severus Snape, though he does not know it.” said Griphook, and the two goblins roared with malicious laughter.

“Didn’t you hear about that, Ted?” asked Dirk. “About the kids who tried to steal Gryffindor’s sword out of Snape’s office at Hogwarts?”

“Never heard a word,” said Ted. “Not in the _Prophet_ , was it?”

“Hardly,” chortled Dirk. “Griphook here told me, he heard about it from Bill Weasley who works for the bank. One of the kids who tried to take the sword from Bill’s younger sister. She and a couple of friends got into Snape’s office and smashed open the glass case where he was apparently keeping the sword. Snape caught them as they were trying to smuggle it down the staircase.”

“Ah, bless ‘em,” said Ted. “What did they think, that they’d be able to use the sword on You-Know-Who? Or on Snape himself?”

“Well, whatever they thought they were going to do with it, Snape decided the sword wasn’t safe where it was,” said Dirk. “Couple of days later, once he’d got the say-so from You-Know-Who, I imagine, he sent it down to London to be kept in Gringotts instead.” The goblins started to laugh again.

“I’m still not seeing the joke,” said Ted.

“It’s a fake,” rasped Griphook.

“The sword of Gryffindor!”

“Oh yes. It is a copy – an excellent copy, it is true – but it was Wizard-made. The original was forged centuries ago by goblins and had certain properties only goblin-made armor possesses. Wherever the genuine sword of Gryffindor is, it is not in a vault at Gringotts bank.”

“I see,” said Ted. “And I take it you don’t bother telling the Death Eaters this?”

“I saw no reason to trouble them with the information,” said Griphook smugly, and now Ted and Dean joined in Gornuk and Dirk’s laughter.

“What happened to Ginny and the others? The ones who tried to steal it?” Dean asked,

“Oh, they were punished, and cruelly,” said Griphook indifferently.

“They’re okay, though?” asked Ted quickly. “I mean, the Weasleys don’t need any more of their kids injured, do they?”

“They suffered no serious injury, as far as I am aware,” said Griphook.

“Lucky for them,” said Ted. “With Snape’s track record I suppose we should just be glad they’re still alive.”

“You believe that story, then, do you, Ted?” asked Dirk. “You believe Snape killed Dumbledore?”

“Course I do,” said Ted. “You’re not going to sit there and tell me you think Potter had anything to do with it?”

“Hard to know what to believe these days,” Muttered Dirk.

“I know Harry Potter,” said Dean. “And I reckon he’s the real thing – the Chosen One, or whatever you want to call it.”

“Yeah, there’s a lot would like to believe he’s that, son,” said Dirk, “me included. But where is he? Run for it, by the looks of things. You’d think, if he knew anything we don’t, or had anything special going for him, he’d be out there now fighting, rallying resistance, instead of hiding. And you know, the _Prophet_ made a pretty good case against him –”

“The _Prophet?”_ scoffed Ted. “You deserve to be lied to if you’re still reading that muck, Dirk. You want the facts, try the _Quibbler_ .” There was a sudden explosion of choking and retching, plus a good deal of thumping; by the sound of it, Dirk had swallowed a fish bone. At last he spluttered, “The _Quibbler?_ That lunatic rag of Xeno Lovegood’s?”

“It’s not so lunatic these days,” said Ted. “You want to give it a look. Xeno is printing all the stuff the _Prophet’s_ ignoring, not a single mention of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks in the last issue. How long they’ll let him get away with it, mind, I don’t know. But Xeno says, front page of every issue, that any wizard who’s against You-Know-Who ought to make helping Harry Potter their number one priority.”

“Gard to help a boy who’s vanished off the face of the earth,” said Dirk.

“Listen, the fact that they haven’t caught him yet’s one hell of an achievement,” said Ted. “I’d take tips from him gladly; it’s what we’re trying to do, stay free, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, well, you’ve got a point there,” said Dirk heavily. “With the whole of the Ministry and all their informers looking for him I’d have expected him to be caught by now. Mind, who’s to say they haven’t already caught and killed him without publicizing it?”

“Ah, don’t say that, Dirk,” murmured Ted. There was a long pause filled with more clattering of knives and forks. When they spoke again, it was to discuss whether they ought to sleep on the bank or retreat back up the wooded slope. Deciding the trees would give better cover, they extinguished their fire, then clambered back up the incline, their voices fading away.

The Doctor turned back to Harry and repeated what he had heard. “Should we tell Hermione and Ron?”

“I think so,” The Doctor said, “It is Ron’s sister.”

When the Doctor told Hermione and Ron, they were shocked, “What if she’s not okay!” Ron whispered,

“I know!” said Hermione. She lunged for the tiny beaded bag, this time sinking her arm in it right up to the armpit. “Here…we…are…” she said between gritted teeth, and she pulled out the portrait of Phineas Nigellus. “If somebody swapped the real sword for the false while it was in Dumbledore’s office,” she panted, as they propped the painting against the side of the tent, “Phineas Nigellus would have seen it happen, he hangs right beside the case!”

“Unless he was asleep,” said Harry, Hermione knelt down in front of the empty canvas, her wand directed at its center, cleared her throat, then said, “Er – Phineas? Phineas Nigellus?” Nothing happened. “Phineas Nigellus?” said Hermione again. “Professor Black? Please could we talk to you? Please?”

“‘Please’ always helps,” said a cold, snide voice, and Phineas Nigellus slid into his portrait. At once, Hermione cried:

“ _Obscuro!”_ A black blindfold appeared over Phineas Nigellus’s clever, dark eyes, causing him to bump into the frame and shriek with pain.

“What – how dare – what are you – ?”

“I’m very sorry, Professor Black,” said Hermione, “but it’s a necessary precaution!”

“Remove this foul addition at once! Remove it, I say! You are running a great work of art! Where am I? What is going on?”

“Never mind about where we are,” said Harry, and Phineas Nigellus froze, abandoning his attempts to peel off the painted blindfold.

“Can that possibly be the voice of the elusive Mr. Potter?”

“Maybe,” said Harry, well aware that this would keep Phineas Nigellus’s interest. “We’ve got a couple of questions to ask you – about the sword of Gryffindor.”

“Ah,” said Phineas Nigellus, now turning his head this way and that effort to catch sight of Harry, “yes. That silly girl acted most unwisely there –”

“Shut up about my sister,” said Ron roughly. Phineas Nigellus raised supercilious eyebrows.

“Who else is here?” he asked, turning his head from side to side. “Your tone displeases me! The girl and her friends were foolhardy in the extreme. Thieving from the headmaster!”

“They weren’t thieving,” said Harry. “That sword isn’t Snape’s.”

“It belongs to Professor Snape’s school,” said Phineas Nigellus. “Exactly what claim did the Weasley girl have upon it? She deserved her punishment, as did the idiot Longbottom and the Lovegood oddity!”

“Neville is not an idiot and Luna is not an oddity!” said Hermione,

“Mr. Black, we wanted to ask you, apart from that one instance, when was the last time the sword was removed.” The Doctor asked,

“Who are you?” Phineas Nigellus demand. When the Doctor didn’t respond, he said,

“I believe that the last time I saw the sword of Gryffindor leave its case was when Professor Dumbledore used to to break open a ring. Now, I bid good night to you.” He said a little waspishly, and he began to move out of sight,

“Wait!” Harry suddenly shouted, “Have you told Snape you saw this?” Phineas Nigellus stuck his blindfolded head back into the picture.

“Professor Snape has more important things on his mind than the many eccentricities of Albus Dumbledore. _Good-bye_ , Potter!”

And with that, he vanished completely, leaving behind him nothing but his murky backdrop.

“The sword can destroy Horcruxes!” Hermione gasped,

“Yes,” The Doctor said, “I told you that, the sword was known to once come into contact with Basilisk venom, and the sword was goblin-made. Goblin-made silver repels dirt, imbibing only what can strengthen it.”

“And Dumbledore didn’t give it to me because he still needed it, he wanted to use it on the locket –”

“ – and he must have realized they wouldn’t let you have it in his will –”

“ – so he made a copy and put the fake in the glass case.” The Doctor finished, “But the question is, where is the real one?”

“Think!” Whispered Hermione. “Think! Where would he have left it?”

“Not at Hogwarts,” said Harry, resuming his pacing.

“Somewhere in Hogsmeade?” suggest Hermione,

“The Shrieking Shack?” said Harry. “Nobody ever goes in there.”

“But Snape knows how to get in, wouldn’t that be a bit risky?”

“Dumbledore trusted Snape,” Harry reminded her,

“Not enough to tell him that he had swapped the swords,” said Hermione.

“Yeah, you’re right!” said Harry, “So would he have hidden the sword well away from Hogsmeade then?”

“I would say so,” The Doctor said, “With the Death Eaters in charge of the Ministry, he wouldn’t have left it in a public place.”

“What d’you reckon, Ron?” Hermione asked, she spun around, only to find Ron in the tent, lying the the shadow of the lower bunk, looking away.

“Oh, remembered me, have you?” he said.

“What?” Ron snorted as he stared up at the underside of the upper bunk.

“You three carry on. Don’t let me spoil your fun.” The Doctor looked at Ron,  
“Ron, we’re all for a common goal, aren’t we?” There were several _plunks_ on the canvas over their heads. It had started to rain.

“Ron, obviously you got a problem,” said Harry, “Spit it out, will you?” Ron swung his long legs off the bed and sat up. He looked mean, unlike himself. He was radiating energy,

“All right, I’ll spit it out. Don’t expect me to skip up and down the tent because there’s some other damn thing we’ve got to find. Just add it to the list of stuff you don’t know.”

“Ron, the Locket, take it off…” The Doctor said,

“Oh, right! The Locket! That’s all you care about!” Ron snarled,

“No, Ron, I think it’s affecting you,”

“What the hell are you talking about? I’m just sick of this. We’ve got nothing to eat and I’m freezing my backside every night. We haven’t achieved anything!”

“I thought you knew what you’d signed up for?” said Harry.

“Yeah, I thought I did too.”

“So what part of it isn’t living up to your expectations?” asked Harry angrily, “Did you think we’d be staying in five-star hotels? Finding a Horcrux every other day? Did you think you’d be back to Mummy by Christmas?”

“We thought you knew what you were doing!” Shouted Ron,

“Ron! Take off the Locket!” The Doctor said,

“Why should I do anything you tell me? You’re not even human!” Ron spat,

“Ron!” Hermione said, but he ignored her,

“Well, sorry to let you down,” said Harry, “I’ve been straight with you from the start, I told you everything Dumbledore told me. And in case you haven’t noticed, we’ve found one Horcrux –”

“Yeah, and we’re about as near getting rid of it as we are to finding the rest of them – nowhere near, in other words!”

“Why are you still here?” Harry shouted at Ron,

“Search me,” Ron shouted back,

“Go home then,” said Harry.  
“Yeah, maybe I will!” Shouted Ron, “Didn’t you hear what they said about my sister? But you don’t give a rat’s frat, do you, Harry _I’ve-Faced-Worse_ Potter doesn’t care what happens to her! And what about the rest of my family, ‘the Weasleys don’t need another kid injured,’ did you hear that?”

“Yeah I –” Hermione began,

“Not bothered what it meant, though.”

“Ron!” said Hermione, forcing her way between them. “I don’t think it means anything new has happened, anything we don’t know about; think, Ron, Bill’s already scarred, plenty of people must have seen that George has lost an ear by now, and you’re supposed to be on your deathbed with spattergroit, I’m sure that’s all they meant –”

“Oh, you’re sure, are you?” Right then, well, I won’t bother myself about them. It’s all right for you three, isn’t it? With your parents safely out of the way –”

“My parents are _dead_!” Harry bellowed, the Doctor felt the chill of memory wash over him,

“And mine could be going the same way!” yelled Ron.  
“Then GO!” roared Harry. “Go back to them, pretend you’ve got over your spattergroit and Mummy’ll be able to feed you up and –” Ron made a sudden movement: Harry reacted, but before either wand was clear of its owner’s pocket, the Doctor had raised his own,

“ _Protego!”_ an invisible shield expanded between him, Harry, and Hermione on one side, and Ron on the other.

“Ron, please take off the Locket,” The Doctor pleaded, “It’s affecting you!”

“Fine!” Ron spat, ripping the locket off and throwing it at the Doctor’s feet. He then looked to Hermione, “What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?” She asked,

“Are you staying, or what?”

“I…” She looked anguished. “Yes – yes, I’m staying. Ron, we said we’d go with Harry, we said we’d help –”

“I get it. You chose him.”

“Ron, no – please – come back, come back!” Ron stormed into the night. The Doctor stood quite still and silent, as did Harry, listening to her sobbing and calling Ron’s name amongst the trees.

After a few minutes she returned, her sopping hair plastered to her face. “He’s g-g-gone! Disapparated!” She threw herself into a chair, curled up, and started to cry. The Doctor sat down next to her, not sure what else to do. “Just go away!” She hissed, the Doctor made his way outside and sat down to keep watch, wondering where Ron was now.


	13. Godric's Hollow

When the morning came, the Doctor found Hermione, eyes puffy and red; she looked as if she had not slept. They packed their things, Hermione dawdling. The Doctor knew why she wanted to spin out their time on the riverbank; several times he saw her look up eagerly, and he was sure she had deluded herself into thinking that she heard footsteps through the heavy rain.

The muddy river beside them was rising rapidly and would soon spill over onto their bank. They had lingered a good hour after they would usually have departed their campsite. Finally having entirely repacked the beaded bag three times, Hermione seemed unable to find any more reason to delay: She, the Doctor, and Harry grasped hands and Disapparated, reappearing on a windswept heather-covered hillside.

The instant they arrived, Hermione dropped the Doctor’s hand and walked away from himself and Harry, finally sitting down on a large rock, her face on her knees, shaking with what he knew were sobs. He wanted to help her, but didn’t know what he could say. Every time he tried to speak with her, she pushed him away.

Both Harry and Hermione refused to discuss Ron over the next few days. Harry seemed determined never to mention his name again, and Hermione seemed to know that it was no use forcing the issue, although sometimes at night, when she thought Harry was asleep and he couldn’t hear, he would hear her crying. Meanwhile, Harry had shown the Doctor a map, called the Marauder’s Map. It was a map of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He would point out people he knew and tell stories about each of them. Ginny seemed to come up the most, Harry spoke most fondly of her.

By day, they devoted themselves to trying to determine the possible locations of Gryffindor’s sword, though the Doctor noticed that the more they talked, the more desperate and far-fetched their speculations became. They were spending many evenings in near silence, and Hermione took to bringing out Phineas Nigellus’s portrait and propping it up in a chair, as though he might fill part of the gaping hole left by Ron’s departure. Despite his previous assertion that he would never visit them again, Phineas Nigellus did not seem able to resist the chance to find out more about what Harry was up to, and consented to reappear, blindfolded every few days or so. He would let drop certain snippets of what was happening at Hogwarts. Snape seemed to be facing a constant, low level of mutiny from a hard core of students. Ginny had been banned from going to Hogsmeade. Snape had reinstated a decree forbidding gatherings of three or more students or any unofficial societies. Phineas Nigellus often would slip in leading questions about Harry and Hermione’s whereabouts. Hermione shoved him back inside the beaded bag every time he did this, and Phineas Nigellus invariably refused to reappear for several days after these unceremonious good-byes.

The weather grew colder and colder. They did not dare remain in any one area too long, so rather than staying in the south of England, where a hard ground frost was the worst of their worries, they continued to meander up and down the country, braving a mountainside, where sleet pounded the tent; a wide, flat march, where the tent was flooded with chill water; and a tiny island in the middle of a Scottish loch, where snow half buried the tent in the night.

“Doctor, can you help me with this?” Hermione asked one night, the Doctor made his way towards Hermione, “Look at that symbol,” she said, pointing to the top of a page. Above the title of the story, there was a picture of what looked like a triangular eye it’s pupil crossed with a vertical line.

“That’s the symbol Xenophilius Lovegood was wearing at the wedding…” The Doctor said, “It’s not a rune, it’s a mark. Grindelwald's mark.” She stared at him, open-mouthed, the Doctor shrugged.  
“Hermione, Doctor –” Harry called from the other side of the tent, they both looked up,

“I’ve been thinking. I – I want to go to Godric’s Hollow.” The Doctor nodded,

“I agree.”

“Really?”

“Me too,” Hermione said, “I think the sword might be there, I mean, Godric Hollow is Godric Gryffindor’s birthplace –”

“Really? Gryffindor came from Godric’s Hollow?” Harry asked,

“Harry, did you ever even open _A History of Magic_?”

“Erm,” he said, smiling, “I might’ve opened it, you know, when I bought it…just the once…”

“Well, as the village is named after him…” The Doctor said,

“There’s a bit about the village in _A History of Magic_ , wait…” Hermione opened the beaded bag and rummaged for a while, finally extracting her copy of the textbook, _A History of Magic_ by Bathilda Bagshot, which she thumbed through until finding the page she wanted.

“ _‘Upon the signature of the International Statute of Secrecy in 1689, wizards went into hiding for good. It was natural, perhaps, that they formed their own small communities within a community. Many small villages and hamlets attracted several magical families, who banded together for mutual support and protection. The villages of Tinworth in Cornwall, Upper Flagley in Yorkshire, and Ottery St. Catchpole on the south coast of England were notable homes to knots of Wizarding families who lived alongside tolerant and sometimes Confunded Muggles. Most celebrated of those half-magical dwelling places is, perhaps Godric’s Hollow, the West Country village where the great wizard Godric Gryffindor was born, and where Bowman Wright, WIzarding smith, forged the first Golden Snitch. The graveyard is full of the names of ancient magical families, and this accounts, no doubt, for the stories of hauntings that have dogged the little church beside it for many centuries.’_ You and your parents aren’t mentioned,” Hermione said, closing the book, “because Professor Bagshot doesn’t cover anything later than the end of the nineteenth century. But you see? Godric’s Hollow, Godric Gryffindor, Gryffindor’s sword; don’t you think Dumbledore would have expected you to make the connection?”

“Oh yeah…” Harry said, though the Doctor could clearly tell that the sword was the last thing on his mind when he had suggested Godric’s Hollow.

“Bathilda Bagshot lives in Godric’s Hollow…” The Doctor said thoughtfully, “From what I’ve heard, the Dumbledores were quite close to her…”

“Maybe she’s got the sword…” Hermione said, “But if we’re going, we’ll have to think it through carefully.”

“How about Polyjuice Potion?” The Doctor suggested, Hermione nodded,

“Yes, I suppose that would work.”

“Brilliant!” The Doctor grinned, “Allons-y!”  
Before they knew it, Harry, Hermione, and the Doctor Apparated into Godric’s Hollow, all three of them disguised as local Muggles from the area. They were standing in a snowy lane under a dark blue sky, in which the night’s first stars were already glimmering feebly. Cottages stood on either side of the narrow road, Christmas decorations twinkling in their windows. A short way ahead of them, a glow of golden streetlights indicated the center of the village. They made their way forward, the icy air stinging their faces as they passed more cottages; the Doctor watched Harry as he gazed at each one, undoubtedly thinking about his parents.

Strung all around with coloured lights, there was what looked like a war memorial in the middle, partly obscured by a windblown Christmas tree. There were several shops, a post office, a pub, and a little church whose stained-glass windows were glowing jewel-bright across the square.

The snow here had become impacted: It was hard and slippery where people had trodden on it all day. Villagers were criss-crossing in front of them, their figures briefly illuminated by streetlamps. They heard a snatch of laughter and pop music as the pub door opened and closed; then they heard a carol start up inside the little church.

“Harry, Doctor, I think it’s Christmas Eve!” Said Hermione.

“So it is,” The Doctor smiled slightly, “‘s been ages since I’ve celebrated Christmas, not since…” The Doctor trailed off, “ …Anyway.” Suddenly, Hermione gasped, “Look!” She was pointing back at the war memorial. As they had passed it, it had transformed. Instead of an obelisk covered in names, there was a statue of three people: A man with untidy hair and glasses, a woman with long hair and a kind, pretty face, and a baby boy sitting in his mother’s arms. Harry drew closer, gazing up into his parents’ faces.

“C’mon,” said Harry, when he had seemed to look his fill, and they turned again toward the church. As they crossed the road, he glanced over his shoulder; the statue had turned back into the war memorial.

The singing grew louder as they approached the church. There was a kissing gate at the entrance to the graveyard. Hermione pushed it open as quietly as possible and they edged through it. On either side of the slippery path to the church doors, the snow lay deep and untouched. They moved off through the snow, carving deep trenches behind them as they walked around the building, keeping to the shadows beneath the brilliant windows.

Behind the church, row upon row of snowy tombstones protruded from a blanket of pale blue that was flecked with dazzling red, gold, and green wherever the reflections from the stained glass hit the snow. “Look at this,” Harry called from a few graves over, “It’s an Abbott, could be some long-lost relation of Hannah’s!”

“Keep your voice down,” Hermione begged him. They waded deeper and deeper into the graveyard, gouging dark tracks into the snow behind them, stooping to peer at the words on old headstones, every now and then squinting into the surrounding darkness to make absolutely sure that they were unaccompanied. “Harry, Doctor, here!” Hermione called.

Hermione was two rows of tombstones away, the Doctor made his way over to her, “Is it –?” Harry began, but Hermione cut him off,

“No, but look!” She pointed to the dark stone. The Doctor stopped down and saw, upon the frozen, lichen-spotted granite, the words KENDRA DUMBLEDORE and, a short way below her dates of birth and death, AND HER DAUGHTER ARIANA. There was also a quotation:

 

_Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also._

 

The Doctor looked at Harry, whose face looked disappointed and solemn, “Are you sure Dumbledore never mentioned – ?” The Doctor asked,

“No,” said Harry curtly, then, “let’s keep looking,” and he turned away.

They continued to look for the Potters’ grave, when Hermione called out, “Look at this!”

The grave was extremely old, weathered so that the Doctor could hardly make out the name. Hermione pointed to the symbol underneath it, “It’s the mark in the book!” The Doctor nodded, stooping down to investigate it,

“Ignotus Peverell,” He ran a finger over the dust, sniffed it, then licked it, “Seven-hundred and eighty-three years old.” He jumped back up,

“I’m going to keep looking for my parents, all right?” Harry said, a slight edge to his voice, and walked off.

Finally, the Doctor called Harry and Hermione over, “I’ve found it.” Harry moved toward him slowly. The Doctor looked up at the headstone he had found. It was only two rows behind Kendra and Ariana’s. It was made of white marble, and this made it easy to read, as it seemed to shine in the dark. He did not need to kneel or even approach very close to it to make out the words engraved upon it.

 

                    JAMES POTTER                                           LILY POTTER

              BORN 27 MARCH 1960                            BORN 30 JANUARY 1960

             DIED 31 OCTOBER 1981                           DIED 31 OCTOBER 1981.

_The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death._

 

The Doctor watched Harry read the words slowly, as though he would have only one chance to take in their meaning, and he read the last of them aloud. “‘The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death’…” Harry looked up, “Isn’t that a Death Eater idea? Why is that there?”

“It doesn’t mean defeating death in the way the Death Eaters mean it, Harry,” said Hermione, her voice gentle. “It means…you know…living beyond death. Living after death.” Harry nodded, the Doctor grabbed Harry’s hand, not speaking. Harry squeezed the Doctor’s hand and took a deep breath. The Doctor raised his wand, moved it in a circle through the air, and a wreath of Christmas roses bloomed before them, the Doctor did always love Roses… Harry caught it an laid it on his parents’ grave.


	14. Bathilda's Secret

“Harry, Hermione, someone’s watching.” The Doctor said, glancing around, “There’s someone watching us, over by the bushes.” They stood quite still, holding on to each other, gazing at the dense black boundary of the graveyard.

“Are you sure?” Harry asked,

“Superior Time Lord biology, yes I’m sure.”

“But we look like Muggles…” Harry said,

“Muggles who’ve just been laying flowers on your parents’ grave.” Hermione pointed out,

“Come on.” The Doctor began moving a bit faster, weaving their way through the headstones,

“How are we going to find Bathilda’s house?” asked Hermione as they quickened their pace. Before the Doctor could answer, he heard,

“Doctor, Hermione, look.” The Doctor turned to him. The Fidelius Charm must have died with James and Lily Potter. The hedge had grown wild in the sixteen years since Harry had been there, rubble lay scattered amongst the waist-high grass. Most of the cottage was still standing, though entirely covered in dark ivy and snow, but the right side of the top floor had been blown apart; that the Doctor assumed, was where Voldemort’s curse backfired. He, Hermione, and Harry stood at the gate, gazing up at the wreck of what must have once been a cottage just like those that flanked it.

“I wonder why nobody’s ever rebuilt it?” Whispered Hermione.

“You can’t,” the Doctor said, “Dark magic is some powerful stuff, this damage is irreparable.” Harry reached out and grasped the snowy and thickly rusted gate, but made no move to open it.

The moment Harry touched the gate, a sign rose out of the ground in front of them, up through the tangles of nettles and weeds, much like the fast-growing flowers of Hunlo, and in golden letters upon the wood it said:

 

On this spot, on the night of 31 October 1981,

Lily and James Potter lost their lives.

Their son, Harry, remains the only wizard

ever to have survived the Killing Curse.

This house, invisible to Muggles, has been left

in its ruined state as a monument to the Potters

and as a reminder of the violence

that tore apart their family.

 

All around these neatly lettered words, scribbles had been added by other witches and wizards who had come to see the place where the Boy Who Lived had escaped. Some had merely signed their names in Everlasting Ink; others had carved their initials into the wood, still others had left messages. The most recent of these, shining brightly over sixteen years’ worth of magical graffiti, all said similar things.

 

_Good luck, Harry, wherever you are._

_If you read this, Harry, we’re all behind you!_

_Long live Harry Potter._

 

“They shouldn’t have written on the sign!” said Hermione, indignant. Harry beamed at her and the Doctor,

“It’s brilliant. I’m glad they did. I…” He broke off. A heavily muffled figure was hobbling up the lane toward them, silhouetted by the bright lights in the distant square. The figure was a woman, she was moving slowly, possibly frightened of slipping on the snowy ground. They watched in silence as she drew nearer. She came to a halt a few yards away from them and simply stood there in the middle of the frozen road, facing them. She raised a gloved hand and beckoned.

When nobody moved, she beckoned again, suddenly, the Doctor came to a realization, “Bathilda Bagshot!” He made his way over to her, followed by Hermione and Harry. The moment he made his way over to her, Bathilda turned and hobbled off back they way they had come. Leading them past several houses, she turned in at a gate. They followed her up the front path through a garden nearly as overgrown as the one they had just left. She fumbled for a moment with the key at the front door, then opened it and stepped back to let them pass.

She closed the door behind them, her knuckles blue and mottled against the peeling paint, then turned and peered into Harry’s face. Her eyes were thick with cataracts and sunken into folds of transparent skin, and her whole face was dotted with broken veins and liver spots. She unnerved the Doctor, not only did she seem old, she seemed dead. She had life energy, that much was obvious, but it just felt out-of-sync, something wasn’t quite right. “Bathilda?” Harry said, she nodded, shuffling past them, pushing Hermione aside as though she had not seen her, and vanished into what seemed to be a sitting room.

“Harry, Doctor, I’m not so sure about this,” breathed Hermione,

“Me neither…” The Doctor said, “Her energy, it’s not right, something here’s not right…”

“Look at the size of her; I think we could overpower her if we had to,” said Harry,

“Looks can be deceiving,” The Doctor warned, “Some of the most harmless-looking people can take down entire galaxies, destroy worlds.” Harry nodded,

“I just have to talk to her.” Harry said,

“Come!” Bathilda called from the other room. Harry gave a reassuring nod, and led the way into the sitting room.

Bathilda was tottering around the place lighting candles, but it was still quite dark, not to mention dirty. Thick dust crunched beneath their feet, and the Doctor smelled something underneath the dank and mildewed smell, something worse, like meat gone bad…Bathilda seemed to have forgotten she could do magic, too, for she lit the candles clumsily by hand, her trailing lace cuff in constant anger of catching on fire. The Doctor made his way over to her, pulling out his wand, and carefully lighting each candle for her.

“Mrs. – Miss – Bagshot?” Harry suddenly said, his voice shaking. He was holding a photograph of the golden-haired, merry-faced thief, the young man who had perched on Gregorovitch’s windowsill, smiling lazily up out of the silver frame. The Doctor remembered seeing him on the cover of _The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore_ , arm and arm with teenage Dumbledore. Bathilda looked up at his voice, “Who is this person?” Harry asked her, she peered at it solemnly, then up at Harry. “Do you know who this is?” he repeated in a much slower and louder voice than usual. “This man? Do you know him? What’s he called?”

Bathilda merely looked vague. “Who is this man?” He repeated loudly,

“Harry, what are you doing?” asked Hermione.

“This picture, Hermione, it’s the thief, the thief who stole from Gregorovitch! Please!” he said to Bathilda. “Who is this?” But she only stared at him.

“Why did you invite us here?” The Doctor asked Bathilda, unease rising inside him.

Giving no sign that she had heard the Doctor, Bathilda now shuffled a few steps closer to Harry. With a little jerk of her head she looked back into the hall. “You want us to leave?” Harry asked.

She repeated this gesture, this time pointing firstly at him, then at herself, then at the ceiling. “Oh, right…I think she wants me to go upstairs with her.”  
“All right,” said Hermione, “let’s go.”

But when Hermione and the Doctor moved, Bathilda shook her head with surprising vigor, once more pointing first at Harry, then to herself. “She wants me to go with her, alone.”

“Why?” The Doctor demanded, staring at Bathilda, but she only shook her head.

“Maybe Dumbledore told her to give the sword to me, and only to me?”

“Do you really think she knows who you are?” Hermione asked, the Polyjuice Potion still in affect,

“Yes.” said Harry confidently, “I think she does.” The Doctor nodded,

“Be quick.”

“Lead the way,” Harry said to Bathilda.

She seemed to understand, because she shuffled around him toward the door. Harry glanced back to give them a reassuring smile. The moment he was out of sight, Hermione looked at the Doctor, “Are we really letting him go alone?”

“No.” The Doctor said, quietly making his way to follow them.

The stairs were steep and narrow. The room he and Hermione peered into was pitch black,

“ _Lumos_ ,” said Harry, his wand igniting. He gave a start: Bathilda had moved close to him in those few seconds of darkness.

“Are you Potter?” she whispered.

“Yes, I am.” She nodded solemnly. “Have you got anything for me?” Harry asked, but she seemed distracted by his lit wand-tip.

“Have you got anything for me?” he repeated. Then, she closed her eyes, and Harry’s hand flew up to his scar, swaying where he stood, “Have you go anything for me?” he still asked for a third time, much louder.

“Over here,” she whispered, pointing to the corner. Harry raised his wand and the Doctor saw the outline of a cluttered dressing table beneath the curtained window.

This time, she did not lead Harry. He edged between her and the unmade bed, his wand raised. He did not seem to want to look away from her. “What is it?” he asked as he reached the dressing table, which was heaped high with what looked like dirty laundry.

“There,” she said, pointing to the shapeless mass.

The moment Harry looked away, she suddenly collapsed, and a great snake poured from the place where her neck had been. The Doctor jumped from his hiding place on the stairs, raising his wand, “ _Stupify!”_ The Doctor shouted, pulling Harry away from the snake. Suddenly, a heavy smooth mass smashed himself and Harry into the floor. Curses went flying everywhere and the snake finally seemed to lift off the Doctor and Harry.

Harry raised his wand, but his hand shot to his scar and his knees buckled, “He’s coming! _Doctor, he’s coming!”_ As he yelled, the snake fell.

 _“Confringo!”_ Hermione shouted, her spell flew around the room, exploding the wardrobe mirror and ricocheting back at them, bouncing from the floor to ceiling. The Doctor felt glass across his face, blood running from his eyebrow into his eye. The Doctor grabbed Harry, lunging at Hermione, and he felt them turn on the spot.

Impact. The Doctor barely waited for them to land before lunging into Harry’s mind, desperately trying to keep the mental wound from dilating. Managing to absorb the agonizing pain that Harry was feeling, the Doctor peered into the vision.

_The night wet and windy, two children dressed as pumpkins waddling across the square, and the shop windows covered in paper spiders, all the tawdry Muggle trappings of a world in which they did not believe…And he watched Voldemort glide along, a sense of purpose, power, and rightness flooding his senses…not anger, but triumph._

_“Nice costume, mister!”_

_He saw the small boy’s smile falter as he ran near enough to see beneath the hood of the cloak, saw the fear cloud his painted face: Then the child turned and ran away…Beneath the robe, Voldemort fingered the handle of his wand…One simple movement and the child would never reach his mother, but fact that it was unnecessary overcame him, and he turned away._

_And along a new and darker street he moved, and now his destination was in sight at last. They had not drawn the curtains; he saw them quite clearly in their little sitting room, the tall black-haired man in his glasses, making puffs of coloured smoke erupt from his wand for the amusement of the small black-haired boy in his blue pajamas. The child was laughing and trying to catch the smoke, to grab it in his small fist…_

_A door opened and the mother entered, saying words he could not hear, her long dark-red hair falling over her face. Now the father scooped up the son and handed him to the mother. He threw his wand down upon the sofa and stretched, yawning…_

_The gate creaked open as Voldemort pushed it open, but James Potter did not hear. His white hand pulled out the wand beneath his cloak and pointed it at the door, which burst open._

_He was over the threshold as James came sprinting into the hall. Feelings of ease washed over the Doctor, James had not even picked up his wand…_ _  
_ _“Lily, take Harry and go! It’s him! Go! Run! I’ll hold him off!”_

_Hold him off, without a wand in his hand…Voldemort laughed before casting the curse…_

_“Avada Kedavra!”_

_The green light filled the cramped hallway, it lit the pram pushed against the wall, it made the banisters glare light lightning rods, and James Potter fell like a marionette whose strings were cut._

_He could hear her screaming from the upper floor, trapped…Voldemort climbed the steps, listening to her attempts of barricading herself in…She had no wand upon her either…_

_Voldemort forced the door open, cast aside the chair and boxes hastily piled against it with one lazy wave of his wand…and there she stood, the child in her arms. At the sight of him, she dropped her son into the crib behind her and threw her arms wide, trying to protect her child…_

_“Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!”_

_“Stand aside you silly girl…stand aside, now.”_

_“Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead –”_

_“This is my last warning –”_

_“Not Harry! Please…have mercy…have mercy…Not Harry! Not Harry! Please – I’ll do anything –”_

_“Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!”_

_The green light flashed around the room and she dropped like her husband. The child had not cried all this time: He could stand, clutching the bars of his crib, and he looked up into the intruder’s face with a kind of bright interest, perhaps thinking that it was his father who hid beneath the cloak, making more pretty lights, and his mother would pop up any moment, laughing –_

_Voldemort pointed the wand very carefully into the boy’s face. The child began to cry: It had seen that Voldemort was not James._

_“Avada Kedavra!”_

_And then there was nothing. Nothin but pain and terror._

“Harry! Doctor!” The Doctor jumped up off the ground, spinning around, nearly falling back to the ground, Hermione putting a hand on him to steady him. Harry seemed to be waking up too. “Are you two okay?” Hermione asked,

“Yes.” They both lied.

“I couldn’t get the Horcrux off you…” Hermione said, “You seemed to have grabbed it in trying to keep his mental wound closed. I had to use the Severing Charm to get it away from the both of you.”

The Doctor looked at his hand, there was a scarlet oval where the locket had burned him, as Harry pulled off his shirt, showing the same burn over his heart. “Where is it?” The Doctor asked, looking at Hermione,

“In my bag. I think we should keep it off for a while.” The Doctor nodded in agreement, laying down on the pillows of the already assembled tent, he didn’t remember coming in here,

“How did we get in here?”

“Oh,” Hermione looked at him with concern, “It’s been hours since we left, you two have been quite ill, I had to use a Hover Charm to get you into your bunks…”

“Right.” The Doctor said, “I’ll go out and keep watch.”

“You should rest!” Hermione insisted,

“Hermione, you’re the one who needs sleep.” Harry said, “No offense, but you look terrible. We’re fine. We’ll both keep watch for a while. Where’s my wand?” She did not answer, she merely looked at him. “Where’s my wand, Hermione?” She was biting her lip, and tears swam in her eyes.

“Harry…”

“ _Where’s my wand?”_ She reached down beside the bed and held it out to him.

The holly and phoenix wand was nearly severed in two. One fraggle strand of phoenix feather kept both pieces hanging together. The wood had splintered apart completely. Harry took it into his hands gently, then held it out to the Doctor, “Do you think you can mend it?”

The Doctor waved his own wand. The dangling half of the wand resealed itself. Harry held it up. “ _Lumos!”_ The wand sparked feebly, then went out. Harry pointed it at Hermione. “ _Expelliarmus!”_ Hermione’s wand gave a little jerk, but did not leave her hand. The feeble attempt at magic was too much for Harry’s wand, which split in two again. He stared at it, aghast, as if unable to take in what he was seeing…

“Harry, we’ll find a way to fix it…” The Doctor said, “Promise.” Harry nodded, but didn’t seem to believe him. “Here, you can use mine, I don’t need it, I’ve got my Sonic.” Harry nodded, and the Doctor watched sadly as Harry sprinted out the tent.


	15. The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore

The sun was coming up: The pure, colourless vastness of the sky stretched over them. The Doctor stood over Harry in the tent entrance, he was gazing at the sun rising over the sparkling snowy hillside. It reminded the Doctor of the mountains of Gallifrey a bit. “Harry?” Harry looked up at him,

“What?” The Doctor picked up a book Hermione had grabbed from Bathilda’s sitting room and handed it to Harry. Harry looked at the cover of the pristine copy of _The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore_. “Were – how – ?”

“Hermione snagged it from Bathilda’s sitting room. This note was sticking out of the top of it.” The Doctor read a few lines of the spiky, acid-green writing aloud. “‘ _Dear Batty, Thanks for your help. Here’s a copy of the book, hope you like it. You said everything, even if you don’t remember it. Rita.’_ It must’ve arrived when Bathilda was alive…”

“Yeah.” Harry said, he looked down upon Dumbledore’s face. The spine looked stiff, as if it had never been opened. The Doctor watched Harry rifle through the pages, finally stopping at a photograph of a young Dumbledore roaring with laughter at some long-forgotten joke. The Doctor dropped his eyes to the caption.

 

Albus Dumbledore, shortly after his mother’s death,

with his friend Gellert Grindelwald.

 

Harry gaped at it for several long moments. He looked up at the Doctor, then back down to the book, searching the pages. Finally, he found himself the start of a chapter entitled “The Greater Good.” Together, he and the Doctor started to read:

 

Now approaching his eighteenth birthday, Dumbledore left Hogwarts in a blaze of glory – Head boy, Prefect, Winner of the Barnabas Finkley Prize for Exceptional Spell-Casting, British Youth Representative to the Wizengamot, Gold Medal-Winner for Ground-Breaking Contribution to the International Alchemical Conference in Cairo. Dumbledore intended, next, to take a Grand Tour with Elphias “Dogbreath” Doge, the dim-witted but devoted sidekick he had picked up at school.

The two young men were staying at the Leaky Cauldron in London, preparing to depart for Greece the following morning, when an owl arrived bearing news of Dumbledore’s mother’s death. “Dogbreath” Doge, who refused to be interviewed for this book, has given the public his own sentimental version of what happened next. He represents Kendra’s death as a tragic blow, and Dumbledore’s decision to give up his expedition as an act of noble self-sacrifice.

Certainly Dumbledore returned to Godric’s Hollow at once, supposedly to “care” for his younger brother and sister. But how much care did he actually give them?

“He were a head case, that Aberforth,” says Enid Smeek, whose family lived on the outskirts of Godric’s Hollow at the time. “Ran wild. ‘Course, with his mum and dad gone you’d have felt sorry for him, only he kept chucking goat dung at my head. I don’t think Albus was fussed about him, I never saw them together, anyway.”

So what was Albus doing, if not comforting his wild young brother? The answer, it seems, is ensuring the continued imprisonment of his sister. For, though her first jailor had died, there was no change in the pitiful condition of Ariana Dumbledore. Her very existence continued to be known only to those few outsiders who, like “Dogbreath” Doge, could be counted upon to believe in the story of her “ill health.”

Another such easily satisfied friend of the family was Bathilda Bagshot, the celebrated magical historian who has lived in Godric’s Hollow for many year. Kendra, of course, had rebuffed Bathilda when she first attempted to welcome the family to the village. Several years later, however, the author sent Albus at Hogwarts, having been favorably impressed by his paper on trans-species transformation in _Transfiguration Today_. This initial contact led to acquaintance with the entire Dumbledore family. At the time of Kendra’s death, Bathilda was the only person in Godric’s Hollow who was on speaking terms with Dumbledore’s mother.

Unfortunately, the brilliance that Bathilda exhibited earlier in her life has now dimmed. “The fire’s lit, but the cauldron’s empty,” as Ivor Dillonsby put it to me, or, in Enid Smeek’s slightly earlier phrase, “She’s nutty as squirrel poo.” Nevertheless, a combination of tried-and-tested reporting techniques enabled me to extract enough nuggets of hard fact to string together the whole scandalous story.

Like the rest of the Wizarding world, Bathilda puts Kendra’s premature death down to a backfiring charm, a story repeated by Albus and Aberforth in later years. Bathilda also parrots the family line on Ariana, calling her “frail” and “delicate.” On one subject, however, Bathilda is well worth the effort I put into procuring Veritaserum, for she, and she alone, knows the full story of the best-kept secret of Albus Dumbledore’s life. Now revealed for the first time, it calls into question everything that his admirers believed of Dumbledore: his supposed hatred of the Dark Arts, his opposition to the oppression of Muggles, even his devotion to his own family.

The very same summer that Dumbledore went home to Godric’s Hollow, now an orphan and head of the family, Bathilda Bagshot agreed to accept into her home her great-nephew, Gellert Grindelwald.

The name of Grindelwald is justly famous: In a list of Most Dangerous Dark Wizards of All Time, he would miss out on the top spot only because You-Know-Who arrived, a generation later, to steal his crown. As Grindelwald never extended his campaign of terror of Britain, however, the details of his rise to power are not widely known here.

Educated at Durmstrang, a school famous even then for its unfortunate tolerance of the Dark Arts, Grindelwald showed himself quite as precariously brilliant as Dumbledore. Rather than channel his abilities into the attainment of awards and prizes, however, Gellert Grindelwald devoted himself to other pursuits. At sixteen years old, even Durmstrang felt it could no longer turn a blind eye to the twisted experiments of Gellert Grindelwald, and he was expelled.

Hitherto, all that has been known of Grindelwald’s next movements is that he “traveled abroad for some months.” It can now be revealed that Grindelwald chose to visit his great-aunt in Godric’s Hollow, and that there, intensely shocking though it will be for many to hear it, he struck up a close friendship with none over than Albus Dumbledore.

“He seemed a charming boy to me,” babbles Bathilda, “whatever he became later. Naturally I introduced him to poor Albus, who was missing the company of lads his own age. The boys took to each other at once.”

They certainly did. Bathilda shows me a letter, kept by her, that Albus Dumbledore sent Gellert Grindelwald in the dead of night.

“Yes, even after they’d spent all day in discussion – both such brilliant young boys, they got on like a cauldron on fire – I’d sometimes hear an owl tapping at Gellert’s bedroom window, delivering a letter from Albus! An idea would have struck him, and he had to let Gellert know immediately!”

And what ideas they were. Profoundly shocking though Albus Dumbledore’s fans will find it, here are the thoughts of their seventeen-year-old hero, as relayed to his new best friend. (A copy of the original letter may be seen on page 463.)

 

_Gellert –_

_Your point about Wizard dominance being FOR THE MUGGLES’ OWN GOOD – this, I think, is the crucial point. Yes, we have been given power and yes, that power gives us the right to rule, but it also gives us responsibilities over the ruled. We must stress this point, it will be the foundation stone upon which we build. Where we are opposed, as we surely will be, this must be the basis of all our counterarguments. We seize control FOR THE GREATER GOOD. ANd from this it follows that where we meet resistance, we must use the only force that is necessary and no more. (This was your mistake at Durmstrang! But I do not complain, because if you had not been expelled, we would never have met.)_

_Albus_

 

Astonished and appalled though his many admirers will be, this letter constitutes proof that Albus Dumbledore once dreamed of overthrowing the Statute of Secrecy and establishing Wizard rule over Muggles. What a blow for those who have always portrayed Dumbledore as the Muggle-borns’ greatest champion! How hollow those speeches promoting Muggle rights seem in the light of this damning new evidence! How despicable does Albus Dumbledore appear, busy plotting his rise to power when he should have been mourning his mother and caring for his sister!

No doubt those determined to keep Dumbledore on his crumbling pedestal will bleat that he did not, after all, put his plans into action, that he must have suffered a change of heart, that he came to his senses. However, the truth seems altogether more shocking.

Barely two months into their great new friendship, Dumbledore and Grindelwald parted, never to see each other again until they met for their legendary duel (for more, see chapter 22). What caused this abrupt rupture? _Had_ Dumbledore come to his senses? Had he told Grindelwald he wanted no more part in his plans? Alas, no.

“It was poor little Ariana dying. I think, that did it,” says Bathilda. “It came as an awful shock. Gellert was there in the house when it happened, and he came back to my house all of a dither, told me he wanted to go home the next day. Terribly distressed, you know. So I arranged a Portkey and that was the last I saw of him.

“Albus was beside himself at Ariana’s death. It was so dreadful for those two brothers. They had lost everybody except each other. No wonder tempers ran a little high. Aberforth blamed Albus, you know, as people will under these dreadful circumstances. But Aberforth always talked a little madly, poor boy. All the same, breaking Albus’s nose at the funeral was not decent. It would have destroyed Kendra to see her sons fighting like that, across her daughter’s body. A shame Gellert could not have stayed for the funeral…He would have been a comfort to Albus, at least…”

This dreadful coffin-side brawl, known only to those few who attended Ariana Dumbledore’s funeral, raises several questions. Why exactly did Aberforth Dumbledore Blame Albus for his sister’s death? Was it, as “Batty” pretends, a mere effusion of grief? Or could there have been some more concrete reason for his fury? Grindelwald, expelled from Durmstrang for near-fatal attacks upon fellow students, fled the country hours after the girl’s death, and Albus (out of shame or fear?) never saw him again, not until forced to do so by the pleas of the Wizarding world.

Neither Dumbledore nor Grindelwald ever seems to have referred to this brief boyhood friendship in later life. However, there can be no doubt that Dumbledore delayed, for some five years of turmoil, fatalities, and disappearances, his attack upon Gellert Grindelwald. Was it lingering affection for the man or fear of exposure as his once best friend that caused Dumbledore to hesitate? Was it only reluctantly that Dumbledore set out to capture the man he was once so delighted he had met?

And how did the mysterious Ariana die? Was she the inadvertent victim of some Dark rite? Did she stumble across something she ought not to have done, as the two young men sat practicing for their attempt at glory and domination? Is it possible that Ariana Dumbledore was the first person to die “for the greater good?”

 

The chapter ended here. When Harry finished reading, he looked up at the Doctor, almost as if he was begging for some reason for it not to be true. After a moment’s hesitation, the Doctor said, “Harry I’m not going to tell you that none of that is true, because some of it is. Dumbledore did dabble in the Dark Arts as a young man, but he by no means would kill someone. People do bad things, I’ve done more horrible things than you could ever imagine, but that doesn’t mean they can’t change. Dumbledore was not always the way that you remember him as, but those experiences he had taught him to be the person you knew him as.”

“What do you mean you’ve done horrible things?” Hermione came from behind them, the Doctor hesitated,

“Look at this, Hermione.” Harry said, distracting her from the Doctor, handing her the chapter. It only took her a couple minutes to read it.

“Harry,” Hermione said, “Listen to me. It – it doesn’t make very nice reading –”

“Yeah, you could say that –” Harry said,

“– but don’t forget, harry, this is Rita Skeeter writing.”

“You did read that letter to Grindelwald, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I – I did.” She hesitated, “I think that’s the worst bit. I know Bathilda thought it was all just talk, but ‘For the Greater Good’ became Grindelwald’s slogan, his justification for all the atrocities he committed later. And…from that…it looks like Dumbledore gave him the idea. They say ‘For the Greater Good’ was even carved over the entrance to Nurmengard.”

“What’s Nurmengard?” Harry asked,

“It’s the prison Grindelwald built to hold his opponents.” The Doctor said, “A gigantic, towering building made of black rock with high walls. He ended up imprisoned there himself once Dumbledore caught him.”

“But on the other hand,” Hermione said, “even Rita can’t pretend that they knew each other for more than a few months one summer when they were both really young, and –”

“I thought you’d say that,” said Harry, his voice raising dangerously, “I thought you’d say ‘They were young.’ They were the same age as we are now. And here we are, risking our lives to fight the Dark Arts, and there he was, in a huddle with his new best friend, plotting their rise to power over the Muggles.”

“Don’t underestimate the power of a young mind,” The Doctor warned Hermione,

“I’m not trying to defend what Dumbledore wrote,” said Hermione. “All that ‘right to rule’ rubbish, it’s ‘Magic Is Might’ all over again. But Harry, his mother had just died, he was stuck alone in the house –”

“Alone? He wasn’t alone!” Harry shouted, “He had his brother and sister for company, his Squib sister he was keeping locked up –”

“I don’t believe it,” said Hermione. She stood up too. “Whatever was wrong with that girl, I don’t think she was a Squib. The Dumbledore we knew would never, ever have allowed –”

“The Dumbledore we thought we knew didn’t want to conquer Muggles by force!” Harry shouted, his voice echoing across the empty hilltop, and several blackbirds rose into the air, squawking and spiraling against the pearly sky.

“Harry, I’m sorry, but I think the real reason you’re so angry is that Dumbledore never told you any of this himself.” Hermione said,

“Maybe I am!” Harry bellowed, and he flung his arms over his head. “Look what he asked from me, Hermione! Risk your life, Harry! And again! And again! And don’t expect me to explain everything, just trust me blindly, trust that I know what I’m doing, trust me even though I don’t trust you! Never the whole truth! Never!” His voice cracked with the strain.

“Harry, I don’t know why he didn’t trust you. I don’t know any of this, but I do know that Dumbledore was a good man.”

“Why don’t you two go inside. I’ll finish watch.” Harry dismissed them.

“Harry –” The Doctor said, but Harry pushed him away,

“No, I need some space.” The Doctor nodded,

“Right, if you need anything…” The Doctor said, gesturing to Hermione to go.

“He loved you, Harry.” Hermione said, “I know he loved you.” Harry dropped his arms,

“I don’t know who he loved, Hermione, but it was never me.”


	16. The Silver Doe

It was snowing by the time Hermione took over watch from Harry at midnight. The Doctor watched as Harry slept, he tossed and turned, murmuring in his sleep. Harry woke repeatedly, panicking.

Finally, the Doctor decided to invited Harry to join him outside with Hermione. She was huddled in the entrance to the tent reading _A History of Magic_ by the light of her wand. The snow was still falling thickly, and she greeted with relief the Doctor’s suggestion of packing up early and moving on.

“We’ll go somewhere more sheltered,” she agreed, shivering as she pulled her sweatshirt over her pajamas. “I kept thinking I could hear people moving outside. I even thought I saw somebody once or twice.” The Doctor glanced at the silent, motionless Sneakoscope on the table. “I’m sure I imagined it,” said Hermione, looking nervous. “The sow in the dark, it plays tricks on your eyes…But perhaps we ought to Disapparate under the Invisibility Cloak, just in case?”

Half an hour later, with the tent packed, Harry wearing the Horcrux, and Hermione clutching the beaded bag, they Disapperated. The usual tightness engulfed them; the Doctor’s feet parted company with the snowy ground, then slammed hard onto what felt like frozen earth covered with leaves. “Where are we?” Harry asked, peering around at a fresh mass of trees as Hermione opened the beaded bag and began tugging out tent poles.

“The Forest of Dean,” she said. “I came camping here once with my mum and dad.”

Here too snow lay on the trees all around, but they were at least protected from the wind. They spent most of the day inside the tent, Harry and Hermione huddling around the blue flames that Hermione was so adept at producing, and which could be scooped up and carried around in a jar. That afternoon fresh flakes drifted down upon them, so that even their sheltered clearing had a fresh dusting.

The Doctor, who didn’t nearly need as much sleep as Harry or Hermione, offered to take watch and hold onto the locket, though not around his neck. He sat alone for a long time, trying to push out all the thoughts that often plagued him when he was alone. Suddenly, a bright silver light appeared right ahead of him, moving through the trees. Whatever the source, it was moving soundlessly. The light seemed simply to drift toward him.

The Doctor jumped to his feet, pulling out the Sonic and scanning the light that stepped out in the form of a silver-white doe, moon-bright and dazzling, picking her way over the ground, still silent, and leaving no hoofprints in the fine powdering snow. “She’s a Patronus…” The Doctor breathed, reading the scan, then looked up at her, “Do you want me to follow you?” She nodded and turned away. The Doctor began to follow the shimmering doe through the forest. Snow crunched beneath his feet, but the doe made no noise as she passed through the trees, for she was nothing but light. Deeper and deeper into the forest she led him, and the Doctor walked quickly, sure that when she stopped he would find something.

At last, she came to a halt. She turned her beautiful head once more, and she vanished. The Doctor reached for his wand, then, in remembering that he had lent it to Harry, pulled out his sonic, “Something’s in the pond, then?” He cautiously made his way over to the pond, looking down into it. The ice reflected his distorted shadow, but deep below the thick, misty gray carapace, something else glinted. A great silver cross…

His hearts skipped into his mouth: He dropped to his knees at the pond’s edge and stared into the bottom. A glint of deep red…It was a sword with glittering rubies in his hilt…The sword of Gryffindor was lying at the bottom of the forest pool. Pointing his sonic, a shrill whining sound immeted, shattering the frozen surface.

The Doctor began to remove his layers of clothing until he stood there in his pants, barefooted in the snow. He looked down into the pool of water, and jumped in.

As he made it into the water, he felt the unusual feeling of cold. His body worked to increase his internal temperature. But it wasn’t just cold, it was freezing. He could hardly breathed, and it was only then that he realized he was still holding the Horcrux in his hand. How could he have forgotten to put it down? Some magical enchantment no doubt. The chain snaked up around his neck. The Doctor’s hands jumped to his throat, trying to remove the chain that constricted his airways. He kicked his legs, trying to make his way back to the surface, his respiratory bypass quickly kicked in, but he felt the Horcrux lock itself into place just above one of his hearts. It seared his chest like fire, and he felt his left heart sputter to a stop. The pain was becoming unbearable and his vision began to fade and there was nothing left he could do. Arms that could only be those of Death’s closed around his chest…

Choking and retching, soaking and colder than he had been in a long time, the Doctor came facedown in the snow. Somewhere close by, another person was panting and coughing and staggering around. After a few moments of being thankful for being saved, the Doctor remembered he was still dying. He tried to push himself up, but his muscles felt weak and he was dizzy. Reaching his hand for where the Locket had cut tightly into his flesh, he found that it was gone. Someone had cut him free. Then a panting voice spoke from over his head.

“Are – you – _mental?”_ The Doctor gasped at the voice that could only be the voice of,

“Ron?” At the sound of the Doctor’s weak voice, Ron dropped to his knees beside him. “Doctor? What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

“My heart –” The Doctor gasped, his vision blurring. Ron cursed,

“Right, what do I do?”

“You need to get my heart started again,” The Doctor gasped, “Hit me on my chest, left side!” Ron hesitated before lightly knocking on the left side of the Doctor’s chest,

“Harder than that.” The Doctor said, Ron hit it harder, “Now, on the back!” Ron did as he was told. The Doctor felt his heart jump to life again. “Brilliant.” He said, jumping to his feet, then looked at Ron, “You were brilliant! How did you find me?”

“I’ve been looking for you for hours.” Ron said, “I was just thinking I’d have a kip under a tree and wait for the morning when I saw that deer coming and you following. I thought it was your Patronus.”

“I can’t make a Patronus.” The Doctor said, as he began to pull on his clothes,

“Oh.” Ron said, clearly not expecting that answer, “Well, I’ve – you know – I’ve come back if –” He cleared his throat. “You know. You still want me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course we do.” The Doctor grinned, “You’re brilliant!”

“So, how did the sword get in that pool?” Ron asked,

“Whoever cast the Patronus must have put it there.” The Doctor said, they both looked at the sword that Ron was now holding, it’s rubied hilt glinting a little in the light of Ron’s wand.

“Do you reckon this is the real one?” Asked Ron.

“One way to find out.” The Doctor grinned, grabbing the locket from Ron’s hand. It was twitching slightly.

Placing the Horcrux on a smooth rock lying in the shadow of a sycamore tree, the Doctor gestured for Ron to come over. Ron held out the sword, the Doctor took it. “Hold it down.” Ron nodded, then looked up,

“Doctor, remember in the tent when you said you spoke everything?” The Doctor nodded, remembering Hermione’s eyeroll, “I think you need to open it using Parseltongue. Do you know Parseltongue?”

“Yes, of course,” The Doctor said, staring at the locket, “On three, one…two…three… _open_.” THe last word came as a hiss and a snarl and the golden doors of the locket swung wide with a little click.

Behind both of the glass windows within blinked a living eye, the one that must have belonged to Tom Riddle before he became Lord Voldemort. The Doctor raised the sword: the point dangled over the frantically swiveling eyes, when a voice hissed from out of the Horcrux.

“ _I have seen your hearts, and they are mine._ ” The Doctor froze, “ _I have seen your dreams, Doctor, and I have seen your fears. All you desire is possible, but all that you dread is also possible…_ ”

“Stab it!” Shouted Ron, the Doctor looked down into Riddle’s eyes.

“ _Destroyer of your own people…Murderer of billions…Unable to win your pathetic war…Unloved and unwanted by your new companions…A god amongst mortals, forced to outlive them all as they expire as a Rose wilts on the beach…_ ”

“Doctor! Stab it!” Ron shouted, the Doctor lifted the sword higher, but suddenly, out of the locket’s two windows, out of the eyes, there bloomed a beautiful young woman with shimmering blonde hair and the universe in her eyes. The Doctor was frozen in place, unable to move, when he finally whispered,

“Rose?”

“ _You left me, Doctor.”_ She spat in Voldemort’s voice, _“You abandoned me in Pete’s world to die.”_

“Rose…” The Doctor whispered, “Rose, I’m sorry…” Suddenly another face rose out of the locket,

_“What about me, Grandfather?”_

“Susan?”

“Grandfather?” Ron said, confused,

“Susan, I’m sorry!” The Doctor cried,

“ _You knew I would outlive David. You knew I would be left behind.”_

“ _And how about me?”_ Captain Jack Harkness asked, rising from the locket, “ _You left me with a worse fate. You of all people know the curse of outliving those you love, and you have inflicted this upon me._ ”

“ _And our home_ ,” The Master said, “ _You stole that from me. Not did you only kill your family, you killed mine too! How dare you look down on me for my violent ways, you’ve killed far more than I. You’re worse than I am._ ”

“ _How could anyone love you?”_ Rose laughed cruelly.

Suddenly, the Doctor shouted, “GET OUT OF MY HEAD!” and plunged the sword into the locket. There was a clang of metal and a long, drawn-out scream. Then, they were gone. The Doctor dropped to the ground, his hands over his ears, desperately trying to block out the noise of his mind.

“Doctor?” Ron finally said, the Doctor slowly pulled himself off the ground and they made their way back to the tent.

“Hermione cried for a week after you left…” The Doctor said, breaking the silence in the quiet forest.

“I’m sorry,” Ron said, “I’m sorry I left. I know I was a – a–” He looked around in the darkness, as if hoping a bad enough word would swoop down upon him and claim him.

“You were afraid.” The Doctor said, “You were afraid and you ran. Don’t be ashamed of fear. Plus, sort of made up for it tonight. Getting the sword. Saving my life.”

“What did it mean?” Ron asked, “About you being a murderer?” The Doctor sighed,

“I owe all of you an explanation. And I will explain, but I think you ought to apologize to someone first.” The Doctor made his way towards Hermione and Harry, both fast asleep. “Hermione, Harry!” Hermione stirred, then sat up quickly, pushing her hair out of her face.

“What’s wrong? Doctor? Are you all right?”

“Brilliant!” The Doctor gave a fake grin, “Someone’s here.”

“What d’you mean?” Harry asked drowsily, looking up, “Who –” They saw Ron, who stood there holding the sword and dripping onto the threadbare carpet.

Hermione slid out of her bunk and moved like a sleepwalker toward Ron, her eyes upon his pale face. She stopped right in front of him, her lips slightly parted, her eyes wide. Ron gave a weak, hopeful smile and half raised his arms.

Hermione launched herself forward and started punching every inch of him that she could reach. “Ouch – ow – gerroff! What the – ? Hermione – OW!”

“You – complete – _arse_ – Ronald – Weasley!” She punctuated every word with a blow: Ron backed away, shielding his head as Hermione advanced. “You – crawl – back – here – after – weeks – and – weeks –”

“ _Protego!”_ The Doctor said after grabbing Hermione’s wand off of the table, and an invisible shield erupted between Ron and Hermione: The force knocked her backward onto the floor. Spitting hair out of her mouth, she leapt up again. “He saved my life, Hermione!” The Doctor shouted,

“I don’t care!” She screamed. “I don’t care what he’s done! Weeks and weeks, we could have been _dead_ for all he knew –”

“I knew you weren't dead!” bellowed Ron, drowning her voice for the first time, and approaching as close as he could with the Shield Charm between them. “Harry’s all over the _Prophet_ , all over the radio, they’re looking for you everywhere, all these rumors and mental stories, I knew I’d hear straight off if you were dead, you don’t know what it’s been like –”

“What it’s been like for _you_?”

“I wanted to come back the minute I’d Disapparated,” Ron said, “but I walked  right into a gang of Snatchers, Hermione, and I couldn’t go anywhere!”  
“A gang of what?” asked Harry, speaking for the first time since seeing Ron, he looked surprised, but he was much calmer than Hermione at the moment.

“Snatchers,” said Ron. “They’re everywhere – gangs trying to earn gold by rounding up Muggle-borns and blood traitors, there’s a reward from the Ministry for everyone captured. I was on my own and I look like I might be school age; they got really excited, thought I was a Muggle-born in hiding. I had to talk fast to get out of being dragged to the Ministry.”

“What did you say to them?” Harry asked,

“Told them I was Stan Shunpike. First person I could think of.”

“And they believed that?” Harry asked, disbelieving,

“They weren’t the brightest. One of them was definitely part-troll, the smell off him…” Ron glanced at Hermione, clearly hopeful she might soften at this small instance of humor, but her expression remained stony. “Anyway, they had a row about whether I was Stan or not. It was a bit pathetic to be honest, but there were still five of them and only one of me and they’d taken my wand. Then two of them got into a fight and while the others were distracted I managed to hit the one holding me in the stomach, grabbed his wand, Disarmed the bloke holding mine, and Disapparated. I didn’t do it so well, Splinched myself again” – Ron held up his right hand to show two missing fingernails; Hermione raised her eyebrows coldly – ”and I came out miles from where you were. By the time I got back to that bit of riverbank where we’d been…you’d gone.”

“Gosh, what a gripping story,” Hermione said in a lofty, aggressive voice, “You must have been simply terrified. Meanwhile we went to Godric’s Hollow and, let’s think, what happened there? Oh yes, You-Know-Who’s snake turned up, it nearly killed the three of us, and then You-Know-Who himself arrived and missed us by about a second.”

“What?” Ron said, gaping from her to Harry to the Doctor, but Hermione ignored him.

“Imagine losing fingernails! That really puts our sufferings into perspective, doesn’t it?”

“Hermione, he saved my life.” The Doctor repeated, but she appeared to not have heard him.

“One thing I would like to know, though,” she said, fixing her eyes on the spot a foot over Ron’s head. “How exactly did you find us tonight? That’s important. Once we know, we’ll be able to make sure we’re not visited by anyone else we don’t want to see.”

Ron glared at her, then pulled a small silver object from his jeans pocket. “This.” She had to look at Ron to see what he was showing them.

“The Deluminator?” She asked, so surprised she forgot to look cold and fierce.

“It doesn’t just turn lights on and off,” said Ron. “I don’t know how it works or why it happened then and not any other time, because I’ve been wanting back ever since I left. But I was listening to the radio really early on Christmas morning and I heard…I heard you.” He was looking at Hermione.

“You heard me on the radio?” she asked incredulously.

“No, I heard you coming out of my pocket. Your voice,” he held up the Deluminator again, “came out of this.”

“And what exactly did I say?” asked Hermione, her tone somewhere between skepticism and curiosity.

“My name. ‘Ron.’ And you said…something about a wand…” Hermione turned a fiery shade of scarlet. The Doctor remembered it: It had been the first time Ron’s name had been said aloud by any of them since the day he had left; Hermione had mentioned it when talking about repairing Harry’s wand when the Doctor was on watch, he had heard them inside.

“So I took it out,” Ron went on, looking at the Deluminator, “and it didn’t seem different or anything, but I was sure I’d heard you. So I clicked it. And the light went out in my room, but another light appeared right outside the window.” Ron raised his empty hand and pointed in front of him, his eyes focused on something neither Harry, nor Hermione, nor the Doctor could see. “It was a ball of light, kind of pulsing, and bluish, like that light you get around a Portkey, you know?”

“Yeah,” said Harry, Hermione, and the Doctor together automatically.

“I knew this was it,” said Ron. “I grabbed my stuff and packed it, then I put on my rucksack and went out into the garden. The little ball of light was hovering there, waiting for me, and when I came out it bobbed along a bit and I followed it behind the shed and then it…well, it went inside me.”

“Sorry?” said Harry, clearly unsure if he’d heard correctly,

“It sorted floated toward me,” said Ron, illustrating the movement with his free index finger, “right to my chest, and then – it just went straight through. It was here,” he touched a point close to his heart, “I could feel it, it was hot. And once it was inside me I knew what I was supposed to do, I knew it would take me where I needed to go. So I Disappeared and came out on the side of a hill. There was snow everywhere…”  
“We were there,” The Doctor said, “We spent two nights there.”

“Well, your protective spells work, anyway, because I couldn’t see you and I couldn’t hear you. I was sure you were around, though, so in the end I got in my sleeping bag and waited for one of you to appear. I thought you’d have to show yourselves when you packed up the tent.”

“No actually,” said Hermione. “We’ve been Disapparating under the Invisibility Cloak as an extra precaution. And we left really early.”

“Well, I stayed on that hill all day,” said Ron. “I kept hoping you’d appear. But when it started to get dark I knew I must have missed you, so I clicked the Deluminator again, the blue light came out and went inside me, and I Disapparated and arrived here in these woods. I still couldn’t see you, so I just had to hope one of you would show yourselves in the end – and the Doctor did. Well, I saw the doe first, obviously.”

“You saw the what?” said Harry curiously.

They explained what had happened. “But it must have been a Patronus!” She said. “Couldn’t you see who was casting it? Didn’t you see anyone? And it led you to the sword! I can’t believe this! Then what happened?”

The Doctor explained how Ron had jumped into the pool to pull him out when he realized the Doctor wouldn’t make it on his own, then returned for the sword. He got as far as opening the locket, then hesitated, and Ron cut in.

“ – and the Doctor stabbed it with the sword.”

“And…and it went? Just like that?” Hermione whispered.

“Well, it – it screamed,” said Ron with half a glance at the Doctor who handed her the locket. Gingerly, she picked it up and examined its punctured windows.

Deciding that it was at last safe to do so, the Doctor removed the Shield Charm with a wave of Hermione’s wand and placed it back on the table, turning back to Ron. “Did you just say that you got away from the Snatchers with a spare wand?”

“What?” said Ron, who had been watching Hermione examining the locket. “Oh – oh yeah.” He tugged open a buckle on his rucksack and pulled a short, dark wand out of its pocket. “Here. I figured it’s always handy to have a backup.”

“You were right,” said Harry, handing the Doctor’s wand back to the Doctor and holding out his hand. “Mine’s broken.”

“You’re kidding me?” Ron said, but at that moment Hermione got to her feet, and he looked apprehensive again.

Hermione put the vanquished Horcrux into the beaded bag, then climbed back into her bed and settled down without another word. Ron passed the new wand to Harry. “About the best you could hope for, I think,” murmured Harry.

“Yeah,” said Ron. “Could’ve been worse. Remember those birds she set on me last year?”

“I still haven’t ruled it out,” came Hermione’s muffled voice from beneath her blankets, but the Doctor saw Ron smiling slightly as he pulled his maroon pajamas out of his rucksack.


	17. Xenophilius Lovegood

The Doctor hadn’t expected Hermione’s anger to abate overnight, and was therefore unsurprised that she communicated mainly by dirty looks and pointed silences the next morning. Ron responded by maintaining an unnaturally somber demeanor in her presence as an outward sign of continuing remorse. During the few moments Ron was free of Hermione, however, Ron became shamelessly cheery. “Someone helped us,” he kept saying. “Someone sent that doe. Someone's on our side. One Horcrux down, mate!”

Bolstered by the destruction of the locket, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the Doctor set to debating possible locations of the other Horcruxes. Late in the afternoon, the Doctor, Harry, and Ron escaped Hermione’s baleful presence again. The Doctor and Harry managed to tell Ron the whole story of his and Hermione’s various wanderings, right up to the full story of what had happened at Godric’s Hollow; Ron was now filling Harry and the Doctor in on everything he had discovered about the wider Wizarding world during his weeks away.

“…and how did you find out about the Taboo?” Ron asked Harry after explaining the many desperate attempts of Muggle-borns to evade the Ministry.

“What Taboo?” The Doctor inquired,

“You, Hermione, and Harry have stopped saying You-Know-Who’s name!”

“Oh yeah. Well, it’s just a bit of a bad habit we’ve slipped into,” said Harry. “But I haven’t got a problem calling him V –”

“NO!” Roared Ron, causing Hermione (nose buried in a book at the tent entrance) to scowl over at them. “Sorry,” said Ron, “but the name’s been jinxed, Harry, that’s how they track people!  Using his name breaks protective enchantments, it causes some kind of magical disturbance – it’s how they found us in Tottenham Court Road!”

“Oh, that is brilliant,” The Doctor said,

“Because we used his _name?”_ Harry said,

“Exactly,” said Ron, “You’ve got to give them credit, it makes sense. It was only people who were serious about standing up to him, like Dumbledore, who ever dared to use it. Now they’ve put a Taboo on it, anyone who says it is trackable – quick-and-easy way to find Order members! They nearly got Kingsley –”

“You’re kidding?” Harry said,

“Yeah, a bunch of Death Eaters cornered him, Bill said, but he fought his way out. He’s on the run now, just like us,” Ron scratched his chin thoughtfully with the end of his wand. “You don’t reckon Kingsley could have sent that doe?”

“His Patronus is a lynx,” Harry said, “we saw it at the wedding, remember?”

“Oh yeah…” They moved further away from Hermione,

“You two don’t reckon it could have been Dumbledore?”

“Dumbledore what?” Harry asked, Ron looked a little embarrassed, but said in a low voice, “Dumbledore…the doe? I mean, he had the real sword last, didn’t he?”

“Dumbledore’s dead.” Harry said, clearly trying to be emotionless, “I saw it happen, I saw the body. He’s definitely gone. Anyway, his Patronus was a phoenix, not a doe.”

“Patronuses can change, though, can’t they?” said Ron. “Tonks’s changed, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, but if Dumbledore was alive, why wouldn’t he show himself? Why wouldn’t he just hand us the sword?”

“Search me,” said Ron. “Same reason he didn’t give it to you while he was alive? Same reason he left you an old Snitch and Hermione a book of kids’ stories?”

“Which is what?” asked Harry,

“I dunno,” said Ron. “Sometimes I’ve thought, when I’ve been a bit hacked off, he was having a laugh or – or he just wanted to make it more difficult. But I don’t think so, not anymore. He knew what he was doing when he gave me the Deluminator, didn’t he? He – well,” Ron’s ears turned bright red and he became engrossed in a tuft of grass at his feet, which he prodded with his toe, “he must’ve known I’d run out on you.”

“No,” The Doctor said, “He knew you’d want to come back.”

“Speaking of Dumbledore,” Harry said after a moment of silence, “have you heard what Skeeter wrote about him?”

“Oh yeah,” said Ron at once, “people are talking about it quite a lot. ‘Course, if things were different, it’d be huge news, Dumbledore being pals with Grindelwald, but now it’s just something to laugh about for people who didn’t like Dumbledore, and a bit of a slap in the face for everyone who thought he was such a good bloke. I don’t know that it’s such a big deal, though. He was really young when they –”

“Our age,” said Harry, just as he had retorted to Hermione, and something in his face seemed to decide Ron against pursuing the subject.

A large spider sat in the middle of the frosted web in the brambles. The Doctor watched Harry take aim at it with the wand Ron had given him the previous night, which the Sonic had labeled as blackthorn, 10” long, with a dragon heartstring core. “ _Engorgio._ ” The spider gave a little shiver, bouncing slightly in the web. Harry tried again. This time the spider grew slightly larger.

“Stop that,” said Ron sharply. “I’m sorry I said Dumbledore was young, okay?”

“Sorry – _Reducio_.” Harry said, but the spider did not shrink. Harry looked down at the wand as the Doctor removed his own and shrunk the spider.

“You just need to practice,” said Hermione, who had approached them, “It’s all a matter of confidence, Harry.”

“No,” The Doctor said, “It’s because it doesn’t belong to you. You didn’t win it.”

All three of them returned to the tent when darkness fell, and Harry took first watch. Sitting in the entrance, the Doctor watched him trying to produce magic with his blackthorn wand. Hermione was lying on her bunk reading, while Ron, after many nervous glances up at her, had taken a small wooden wireless radio out of his rucksack and started to try and tune it. “There’s this one program,” he told Harry and the Doctor in a low voice, “that tells the news like it really is. All the others are on You-Know-Who’s side and are following the Ministry line, but this one…you wait till you hear it, it’s great. Only they can’t do it every night, they have to keep changing locations in case they’re raided, and you need a password to tune in…Trouble is, I missed the last one…” The Doctor pulled out his Sonic and quickly switched it to the right station.

“Whenever it comes on, we’ll hear it. It doesn’t matter the password.” Ron grinned,

“Brilliant.”

Finally, Hermione climbed down from her bunk, “We need to talk,” She said, approaching only Harry and the Doctor. She was clutching _The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore_ in her hand.

“What?” Said Harry apprehensively,

“I want to go and see Xenophilius Lovegood.” The Doctor nodded in understanding while Harry just stared at her.

“Sorry?”

“Xenophilius Lovegood. Luna’s father. I want to go and talk to him!”

“Er – why?” Asked Harry,

She took a deep breath, as though bracing herself, and said, “It’s the mark, the mark in _Beedle the Bard._ Look at this!” She thrust _The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore_ under Harry’s eyes, the Doctor looking over his shoulder. The Doctor looked at the photograph of the original letter that Dumbledore had written Grindelwald, with Dumbledore’s thin, slanting handwriting.

“The signature,” said Hermione. “Look at the signature!” The Doctor glanced down, as he closely inspected the signature, he saw that Dumbledore had replaced the _A_ of Albus with a tiny version of the same triangular mark inscribed upon _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_.

“Er – what are you – ?” said Ron tentatively, but Hermione quelled him with a look and turned back to the Doctor and Harry,

“It keeps cropping up, doesn’t it?” she said. “I know you said it was Grindelwald's mark, but it definitely was on that old grave in Godric’s Hollow, and the dates on the headstone were long before Grindelwald came along! And now this! Well, we can’t asak Dumbledore or Gindelfwal what it means – I don’t even know whether Grindelwald's still alive – but we can ask Mr. Lovegood. He was wearing the symbol at the wedding. I’m sure this is important!”

“I don’t know,” said Harry, “We don’t need another Godric’s Hollow, do we?”

“Harry, I think Hermione’s right…” The Doctor said,

“It won’t be like Godric’s Hollow,” Ron said, “Lovegood’s on your side, Harry, _The Quibbler’s_ been for you all along, it keeps telling everyone they’ve got to help you!”

“What other leads do we have?” The Doctor asked. Harry nodded,

“Fine.” Harry looked at Hermione, “Where do the Lovegoods live, anyway?”

“They’re not far from my place,” said Ron. “I dunno exactly where, but Mum and Dad always point toward the hills whenever they mention them. Shouldn’t be hard to find. Anyway, cheer up, it’s Christmas holidays, Luna’ll be home,” Ron turned to the Doctor, “You’ll really like her.” Harry let out a laugh of agreement.

They had an excellent view of the village of Ottery St. Catchpole from the breezy hillside to which they Disapperated the next morning. From their high vantage point, the village looked like a collection of toy houses in the great shafts of sunlight stretching to earth in the breaks between clouds. They stood for a minute or two looking toward the Burrow, their hands shadowing their eyes, but all they could make out were the high hedges and trees of the orchard, which afforded the crooked little house protection from Muggle eyes.

“It’s weird being this near, but not going to visit,” said Ron.

“Well, it’s not like you haven’t seen them. You were there for Christmas,” said Hermione coldly.

“I wasn’t at the Burrow!” said Ron with an incredulous laugh. “Do you think I was going to go back there and tell them all I’d walked out on you? Yeah, Fred and George would’ve been great about it. And Ginny, she’d have been really understanding.”

“But where have you been, then?” asked Hermione, surprised.

“Bill and Fleur’s new place. Shell Cottage. Bill’s always been decent to me. He – he wasn’t impressed when he heard what I’d done, but he didn’t go on about it. He knew I was really sorry. None of the rest of the family knew I was there. Bill told Mum he and Fleur weren’t going home for Christmas because they wanted to spend it alone. You know, first holiday after they were married. I don’t think Fleur minded. You know how much she hates Celestina Warbeck.” Ron turned his back on the Burrow. “Let’s try up here,” he said, leading the way over the top of the hill.

They walked for a few hours, Harry, at Hermione’s insistence, hidden beneath the Invisibility Cloak. The cluster of low hills appeared to be uninhabited apart from one small cottage, which seemed deserted.

“Do you think it’s theirs, and they’ve gone away for Christmas?” said Hermione, peering through the window at a neat little kitchen with geraniums on the windowsill. Ron snorted.

“Listen, I’ve got a feeling you’d be able to tell who lived there if you looked through the Lovegoods’ window. Let’s try the next lot of hills.”

So they Disapparated a few miles farther north.

“Aha!” shouted Ron, as the wind whipped their hair and clothes. Ron was pointing upward, toward the top of the hill on which they had appeared, where a most strange-looking house rose vertically against the sky, a great black cylinder with a ghostly moon hanging behind it in the afternoon sky. “That’s got to be Luna’s house, who else would live in a place like that? It looks light a giant rook!”

“It’s nothing like a bird,” said Hermione, frowning at the tower.

“No, a chess rook.” The Doctor said,

“You play chess?” Ron asked,

“Of course.”  
“I didn’t know aliens played chess…”

“We invented it.” The Doctor grinned,

“Yeah right.” Ron said, but when the Doctor turned back to Hermione, he said, “You’re kidding!”

“Look,” said Harry, “It’s definitely theirs.” Harry was pointing to three hand-painted signs that had been tacked to a broken-down gate. The first read,

_THE QUIBBLER. EDITOR: X. LOVEGOOD_

The second,

_PICK YOUR OWN MISTLETOE_

The third,

_KEEP OFF DIRIGIBLE PLUMS_

The gate creaked as they opened it. The zigzagging path leading to the front door was overgrown with a variety of bushes covered in Crossil Prans, a radish-like fruit. Two aged crab apple trees, bent with the wind, striped with leaves but still heavy with berry-sized red fruits and bushy crowns of white-beaded mistletoe, stood sentinel on either side of the front door. A little owl with a slightly flattened, hawklike head peered down at them from one of the branches. “You’d better take off the Invisibility Cloak, Harry,” said Hermione, “It’s you Mr. Lovegood wants to help, not us.”

He did as she suggested, handing her the Cloak to stow in the beaded bag. She then rapped three times on the thick back door, which was studded with iron nails and bore a knocker shaped like an eagle.

Barely ten seconds passed, then the door was flung open and there stood Xenophilius Lovegood, barefoot and wearing what appeared to be a stained nightshirt. His long white candyfloss hair was dirty and unkept. Xenophilius had been positively dapper at Bill and Fleur’s wedding by comparison.

“What? What is it? Who are you? What do you want?” He cried in a high-pitched, querulous voice, looking first at Hermione, then Ron, then the Doctor, then finally at Harry, upon which his mouth fell open in a perfect, comical O.

“Hello, Mr. Lovegood,” said Harry, holding out his hand. “I’m Harry, Harry Potter.”

Xenophilius did not take Harry’s hand, although the eye that was not pointing inward at his nose slid straight to the scar on Harry’s forehead.

“Would it be okay if we came in?” asked Harry. “There’s something we’d like to ask you.”

“I…I’m not sure that’s advisable,” whispered Xenophilius. He swallowed and cast a quick look around the garden. “Rather a shock…my word…I…I’m afraid I don’t really think I ought to –”

“It won’t take long,” said Harry, clearly disappointed by this less-than-warm welcome.

“I – oh, all right then. Come in, quickly. _Quickly!”_

They were barely over the threshold when Xenophilius slammed the door shut behind them. They were standing a peculiar kitchen; everything in the room was perfectly circular, everything was curved to fit the walls – the stove, the sink, and the cupboards – and all of it had been painted with flowers, insects, and birds in bright primary colours. It was beautiful, the Doctor smiled as he saw that everything was handpainted.

In the middle of the floor, a wrought-iron spiral staircase led to the upper levels. There was a great deal of clattering and banging coming from overhead: The Doctor wondered what Luna could be doing. “You’d better come up,” said Xenophilius, still looking extremely uncomfortable, and he led the way.

The room above seemed to be a combination of living room and workplace, and as such, was even more cluttered than the kitchen. There were piles upon piles of books and papers on every surface. Delicately made models of magical creatures hung from the ceiling.

Luna was not there: The thing that was making such a racket was a wooden object covered in magically turning cogs and wheels. It looked like the bizarre offspring of a workbench and a set of old shelves, but the Doctor could tell it was a brilliantly crafted printing press. It was churning out _Quibblers_.

“Excuse me,” said Xenophilius, and he strode over to the machine, seized a grubby tablecloth from beneath an immense number of books and papers, which all tumbled onto the floor, and threw it over the press, somewhat muffling the loud bangs and clangs. He then faced Harry.

“Why have you come here?” Before Hermione could speak, however, Hermione let out a small cry of shock.

“Mr. Lovegood – what’s that?” She was pointing at an enormous, gray spiral horn, not unlike that of a unicorn, which had been mounted on the wall, protruding several feet into the room.

“It is the horn of a Crumple-Horned Snorkack,” said Xenophilius.

“No it isn’t!” said Hermione.

“Hermione,” muttered Harry, embarrassed, “now’s not the moment –”

“But Harry, it’s an Erumpent horn! It’s a Class B Tradable Material and it’s an extraordinarily dangerous thing to have in a house!” The Doctor pulled out his Sonic and scanned it, proving Hermione right.

“It’s from a Crumple-Horned Snorkack. A Christmas surprise for my Luna. Now,” he said, turning to Harry, “why exactly have you come here, Mr. Potter?”

“We need some help,” said Harry, before Hermione could start again.

“Ah,” said Xenophilius. “Help. Hmm.” His good eye moved to Harry’s scar. He seemed simultaneously terrified and mesmerized.

“Yes. The thing is…helping Harry Potter…rather dangerous…”

“Aren’t you the one who keeps telling everyone it’s their first duty to help Harry?” said Ron. “In that magazine of yours?”

Xenophilius glanced behind him at the concealed printing press, still banging and clattering beneath the tablecloth. “Er – yes, I have expressed that view. However –”

“That’s for everyone else to do, not you personally?” said Ron. Xenophilius did not answer. He kept swallowing, his eyes darting between the four of them.

“Where’s Luna?” asked Hermione. “Let’s see what she thinks.”

Xenophilius gulped. He seemed to be steeling himself. Finally he said in a shaky voice difficult to hear over the noise of the printing press, “Luna is down at the stream, fishing for Freshwater Plimpies. She…she will like to see you. I’ll go and call her and then – yes, very well. I shall try to help you.”

He disappeared down the spiral staircase and they heard the front door open and close. They looked at each other.

“Cowardly old wart,” said Ron. “Luna’s got ten times his guts.”

“No…” The Doctor said, “No, something else is going on…”

The Doctor crossed the window on the far side of the room. He could see a stream, a thin, glittering ribbon lying far below them at the base of the hill. They were quite high up; a bird fluttered past the window as he stared around.

He turned away from the window as they heard the front door close and a moment later, Xenophilius had climbed back up the spiral staircase into the room, his thin legs now encased in Wellington boots, bearing a tray of ill-assorted teacups and a steaming teapot. “May I offer you all an infusion of Gurdyroots?” said Xenophilius. “We make it ourselves.” As he started to pour out the drink, which was deeply purple. “Luna is down beyond Bottom Bridge, she is most excited that you are here. She out not to be too long, she has caught nearly enough Plimies to make soup for all of us. Do sit down and help yourselves to sugar.

“Now,” he removed a tottering pile of papers from an armchair and sat down, his Wellingtoned legs crossed, “how may I help you, Mr. Potter?”

“Well,” said Harry, glancing at the Doctor, who nodded encouragingly, “it’s about that symbol you were wearing around your neck at Bill and Fleur’s wedding, Mr. Lovegood. We wondered what it meant.”

Xenophilius raised his eyebrows. “Are you referring to the sign of the Deathly Hallows?”


	18. The Tale of Three Brothers

The Doctor looked at him, “The Deathly Hallows?”

“That’s right,” said Xenophilius. “You haven’t heard of them? I’m not surprised. Very, very few wizards believe. Witness that knuckle-headed young man at your brother’s wedding,” he nodded at Ron, “who attacked me for sporting the symbol of a well-known Dark wizard! Such ignorance. There is nothing Dark about the Hallows – at least, not in the crude sense. One simply uses the symbol to reveal oneself to other believers, in the hope that they might help one with the Quest.”

He stirred several lumps of sugar into his Gurdyroot infusion and drank some. “I’m sorry,” said Harry. “I still don’t really understand.”

The Doctor watched Harry sip from his cup, just to be polite, and almost gag on it. The Doctor shrugged, continuing to sip the infusion. “Well, you see, believers seek the Deathly Hallows,” said Xenophilius, smacking his lips in apparent appreciation of the Gurdyroot infusion.

“But what  _ are _ the Deathly Hallows?” asked Hermione. Xenophilius set aside his empty teacup. 

“I assume you are familiar with “The Tale of the Three Brothers’?” The Doctor, Ron, and Hermione all said,

“Yes.” But Harry said, “No.” Xenophilius nodded gravely.

“Well, well, Mr. Potter, the whole thing starts with ‘The Tale of the Three Brothers’…I have a copy somewhere…” He glanced vaguely around the room, at the piles of parchment and books, but Hermione said, 

“I’ve got a copy, Mr. Lovegood, I’ve got it right here.” And she pulled out  _ The Tales of Beedle the Bard _ from the small beaded bag.

“The original?” inquired Xenophilius sharply, and when she nodded, he said, “Well then, why don’t you read it aloud? Much of the best way to make sure we all understand.”

“Er…all right,” said Hermione nervously. She opened the books, and the Doctor saw the symbol they were investigating headed on the top of the page as she gave a little cough, and began to read.

“ _ ‘There were once three brothers who were traveling along a lonely, winding road at twilight  _ –’”

“Midnight, our mum always told us,” said Ron, who had stretched out, arms behind his head, to listen. Hermione shot him a look of annoyance. “Sorry, I just think it’s a bit spookier if it’s midnight!” said Ron.

“Yeah, because we really need a bit more fear in our lives,” said Harry. Xenophilius did not seem to be paying much attention, but was staring out of the window at the sky. “Go on Hermione.”

“ _ ‘In time, the brothers reached a river too deep to wade through and too dangerous to swim across. However, these brothers were learned in the magical arts, and so they simply waved their wands and made a bridge appear across the treacherous water. They were halfway across it when they found their path blocked by a hooded figure. _

“ _ ‘ And Death spoke to them  _ –’”

“Sorry, interjected Harry, “but  _ Death _ spoke to them?”

“It’s a fairy tale, Harry!” Hermione said, 

“Right, sorry. Go on.”

“ _ ‘And Death spoke to them. He was angry that he had been cheated out of three new victims, for travelers usually drowned in the river. But Death was cunning. He pretended to congratulate the three brothers upon their magic, and said that each had earned a prize for having been clever enough to evade him. _

“ _ ‘So the oldest brother, who was a combative man, asked for a wand more powerful than any other in existence: a wand that must always win duels for its owner, a wand worthy of a wizard who had conquered Death! So Death crossed to an elder tree on the banks of the river, fashioned a wand from a branch that hung there, and gave it to the older brother. _

“ _ ‘Then the second brother, who was an arrogant man, decided that he wanted to humiliate Death still further, and asked for the power to recall other from Death. So Death picked up a stone from the riverbank and gave it to the second brother, and told him the stone would have the power to bring back the dead. _

“ _ ‘And then Death asked the third and youngest brother what he would like. The youngest brother was the humblest and also the wisest of the brothers, and he did not trust Death. She asked for something that would enable him to go forth from that place without being followed by Death. And Death, most unwillingly, handed over his own Cloak of Invisibility.’” _

“Death’s got an Invisibility Cloak?” Harry interrupted again.

“So he can sneak up on people,” said Ron. “Sometimes he gets bored of running at them, flapping his arms and shrieking…sorry, Hermione.”

“ _ ‘Then Death stood aside and allowed the three brothers to continue on their way, and they did so, talking with wonder of the adventure they had had, and admiring Death’s gifts. _

“ _ ‘In due course the brothers separated, each for his own destination. _

“ _ ‘The first brother traveled on for a week or more, and reaching a distant village, sought out a fellow wizard with whom he had a quarrel. Naturally, with the Elder Wand as his weapon, he could not fail to win the duel that followed. Leaving his enemy dead upon the floor, the oldest brother proceeded to an inn, where he boasted loudly of the powerful wand he had snatched from Death himself, and of how it made him invincible. _

“ _ ‘That very night, another wizard crept upon the oldest brother as he lay, wine-sodden, upon his bed. The thief took the wand and, for good measure, slit the oldest brother’s throat. _

“ _ ‘And so Death took the first brother for his own. _

“ _ ‘Meanwhile, the second brother journeyed to his home, where he lived alone. Here he took out the stone that had the power to recall the dead, and turned it thrice in his hand. To his amazement and his delight, the figure of the girl he had once hoped to marry, before her untimely death, appeared at once before him. _

“ _ ‘Yet she was sad and cold, separated from him as by a veil. Though she had returned to the mortal word, she did not truly belong there and suffered. Finally the second brother, driven mad with hopeless longing, killed himself so as truly to join her. _

“ _ ‘And so Death took the second brother for his own. _

“ _ ‘But though Death searched for the third brother for many years, he was never able to find him. It was only when he had attained a great age that the youngest brother finally took off the Cloak of Invisibility and gave it to his son. And then he greeted Death as an old friend, and went with him gladly, and, equals, they departed this life.’” _

Hermione closed the book. It was a moment or two before Xenophilius seemed to realize that she had stopped reading, then he withdrew his gaze from the window and said, “Well, there you are.”

“Sorry?” said Hermione, sounding confused.

“Those are the Deathly Hallows,” said Xenophilius. He picked up a quill from a packed table at his elbow, and pulled a torn piece of parchment from between more books.

“The Elder Wand,” he said, and he drew a straight vertical line upon the parchment. “The Resurrection Stone,” he said, and he added a circle on top of that line. “The Cloak of Invisibility,” he finished, enclosing both line and circle in a triangle, to make the symbol that so intrigued Hermione. “Together,” he said, “the Deathly Hallows.”

“But there’s no mention of the words ‘Deathly Hallows’ in the story,” said Hermione.

“Well, of course not,” said Xenophilius, maddeningly smug. “That is a children’s tale, told to amuse rather than to instruct. Those of us who understand these matters, however, recognize that the ancient story refers to three objects, or Hallows, which, if united, will make the possessor master of Death.”

There was a short silence in which Xenophilius glanced out of the window. Already the sun was low in the sky. “Luna ought to have enough Plimpies soon,” he said quietly.

“When you say ‘master of Death’ –” the Doctor said,

“Master,” said Xenophilius, waving an airy hand. “Conqueror. Vanquisher. Whichever term you prefer.”

“But then…do you mean…” said Hermione slowly, and the Doctor could tell that she was trying to keep any trace of skepticism out of her voice, “that you believe these objects – these Hallows – actually exist?”

Xenophilius raised his eyebrows again. “Well, of course.”

“But,” said Hermione, and the Doctor could hear her restraint starting to crack, “Mr. Lovegood, how can you  _ possibly _ believe – ?”

“Luna has told me all about you, young lady,” said Xenophilius. “You are, I gather, not unintelligent, but painfully limited. Narrow. Close-minded.”

“Perhaps you ought to try on the hat, Hermione,” said Ron, nodding toward the ludicrous headdress. His voice shook with the strain of not laughing.

“Mr. Lovegood,” Hermione began again. “We all know that there are such things as Invisibility Cloaks. They are rare, but they exist. But –”

“Ah, but the Third Hallow is a  _ true _ Cloak of Invisibility, Miss Granger! I mean to say, it is not a traveling cloak imbued with a Disillusionment Charm, or carrying a Bedazzling Hex, or else woven from Demiguise hair, which will hide on initially but fade with the years until it turns opaque. We are talking about a cloak that really and truly renders the wearer completely invisible, and endures eternally, giving constant and impenetrable concealment, no matter what spells are cast at it. How many cloaks have you ever seen like  _ that _ , Miss Granger?”

Hermione opened her mouth to answer, then closed it again, looking more confused than ever. She, Harry, and Ron glanced at one another, and Harry knew that they were all thinking the same thing. It so happened that a cloak exactly like the one Xenophilius had just described was in the room with them at that very moment.

“Exactly,” said Xenophilius, as if he had defeated them all in reasoned argument. “None of you have ever seen such a thing. The possessor would be immeasurably rich, would he not?” He glanced at the window again. The sky was now tinged with the faintest trace of pink.

“All right,” said Hermione, disconcerted. “Say the Cloak existed…what about the stone, Mr. Lovegood? The thing you call the Resurrection Stone?”

“What of it?”

“Well, how can that be real?”

“Prove that it is not,” said Xenophilius. Hermione looked outraged,

“He does have a point,” The Doctor pointed out.

“And who are you, young man?”

“I’m the Doctor.” Xenophilius looked completely unfazed.

“So the Elder Wand,” said Harry, “you think that exists too?”

“Oh, well, in that case there is endless evidence,” said Xenophilius, “The Elder Wand is the Hallow most easily traced because of the way in which it passes from hand to hand.”

“Which is what?” asked Harry.

“Which is that the possessor of the wand must capture it from its previous owner, if he is to be truly the master of it,” said Xenophilius. “Surely you have heard of the way the wand came to Egbert the Egregious, after his slaughter of Emeric the Evil? Of how Godelot died in his own cellar after his son, Hereward, took the wand from him? Of the dreadful Loxias, who took the wand from Barnabas Deverill, whom he had killed? The bloody trail of the Elder Wand is splattered across the pages of Wizarding history. 

“So where would you guess the Elder Wand is now?” The Doctor asked,

“Alas, who knows?” said Xenophilius, as he gazed out of the window. “Who knows where the Elder Wand lies hidden? The trail goes cold with Arcus and Livius. Who can say which of them really defeated Loxias, and which took the wand? And who can say who may have defeated them? History, alas, does not tell us.”

There was a pause. Finally Hermione asked stiffly, “Mr. Lovegood, does the Peverell family have anything to do with the Deathly Hallows?”

Xenophilius looked taken aback, “But you have been misleading me, young woman!” he said, now sitting up much straighter in his chair and goggled at Hermione. “I thought you were new to the Hallows Quest! Many of us Questers believe that the Peverells have everything –  _ everything!  _ – to do with the Hallows!”

“Who are the Peverells?” asked Ron.

“That was the name on the grave with the mark on it, in Godric’s Hollow,” the Doctor said, “Ignotus Peverell.”

“Exactly!” said Xenophilius, his forefinger raised pedantically. “The sign of the Deathly Hallows on Ignotus’s grave is conclusive proof!”

“Of what?” asked Ron.

“Why, that the three brothers in the story were actually the three Peverell brothers, Antioch, Cadmus, and Ignotus! That they were the original owners of the Hallows!”

With another glance at the window, he got to his feet, picked up the tray, and headed for the spiral staircase. “You will stay for dinner?” he called, as he vanished downstairs again. “Everybody always requests our recipe for Freshwater Plimpy soup.”

“Probably to show the Poisoning Department at St. Mungo’s,” said Ron under his breath.

“What do you think?” Harry asked once he could hear Xenophilius moving about in the kitchen downstairs before speaking.

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione said wearily, “it’s a pile of utter rubbish. THis can’t be what the sign really means. This must just be his weird take on it. What a waste of time.”

“But Hermione,” The Doctor grinned, 

“Oh, don’t tell me you believe this.” Hermione said,

As they argued in whispers, the Doctor moved around the room, examining everything to find what wasn’t right. Reaching the spiral stair, he raised his eyes to the next level and saw Harry’s face looking at him from the ceiling of the room above.

Curiosity got the better of him and he began to climb the stairs. “Doctor, what are you doing? I don’t think you should look around when he’s not here!” But the Doctor had already reached the next level.

The room could only have been that of Luna’s. The ceiling was decorated with five beautifully painted faces: Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and another boy. They were not moving portraits like most wizarding portraits were, but there was a certain magic about them all the same. What appeared to be fine golden chains wove around the pictures, linking them together. It spelled out one word, repeated a thousand times in golden ink:  _ friends…friends…friends… _

He continued to look around the room. There was a large photograph beside the bed, of a young Luna and a woman who looked very like her who could only have been her mother. They were hugging. The picture was dusty, curiosity ran through the Doctor, even the pictures on the TARDIS that had been there for hundreds of years he would never let get dusty, if this woman was so important to Luna…The Doctor looked around.

He had found what was wrong. The pale blue carpet was also thick with dust. There were no clothes in the wardrobe, whose doors stood ajar. The bed had a cold, unfriendly look, as though it had not been slept in for weeks. A single cobweb stretched over the nearest window, across a bloodred sky.

“What’s wrong?” Hermione asked as the Doctor descended the staircase, but before he could respond, Xenophilius reached the top of the stairs from the kitchen, now holding a tray laden with bowls. 

“Mr. Lovegood,” the Doctor said, “Where’s Luna?”

“Excuse me?”

“Luna, where is she?”

Xenophilius halted on the top step. 

“I – I’ve already told you. She is down at Bottom Bridge, fishing for Plimpies.”

“Then why have you only laid that tray for four?” Xenophilius tried to speak, but no sound came out. The only noise was the continued chugging of the printing press, and a slight rattle from the tray as Xenophilius’s hands shook.

“Luna’s not been here for weeks, has she?” The Doctor said, “Her clothes aren’t in the wardrobe, her bed hasn’t been slept in, I’m going to ask you one time and one time only: Where is she?” He saw Xenophilius’s eyes flicker to the window, “And why do you keep looking out the window?”

Xenophilius dripped the tray: The bows bounced and smashed. Harry, Ron, and Hermione drew their wands, though the Doctor remained defenceless. Xenophilius froze, his hand about to enter his pocket. At that moment, the printing press gave a huge bang and numerous  _ Quibblers _ came streaming across the floor from underneath the tablecloth; the press fell silent at last.

Hermione stooped down and picked up one of the magazines, her wand was still pointing at Mr. Lovegood. “Harry, look at this.” 

The Doctor followed Harry over. The front of  _ The Quibbler _ carried a picture of Harry, emblazoned with the words UNDESIRABLE NUMBER ONE and captioned with the reward money.

“ _ The Quibbler’s  _ going for a new angle, then?” Harry asked coldly, the Doctor stepped up Xenophilius, 

“You sent an owl, didn’t you? When you were in the garden.” Xenophilius licked his lips,

“They took my Luna,” he whispered. “Because of what I’ve been writing. They took my Luna and I don’t know where she is, what they’ve done to her. But they might give her back to me if I – if I –”

“Hand over Harry?” Hermione finished for him.

“I’m so sorry,” The Doctor whispered, “I know what it’s like to lose a child, and I know that you would do anything to get her back. But we’re not going to hand over Harry. But what if I could promise you that we could save her?”

“I – I’m sorry, I don’t believe you –” Xenophilius said, backing away, “They will be here at any moment. I must save Luna. I cannot lose Luna. You must not leave.”

“But I can find her, I can save her,” The Doctor tried, 

“DOCTOR!” Hermione screamed. 

Figures on broomsticks were flying past the windows. As the four of them looked away from him, Xenophilius drew his wand. The Doctor realized their mistake just in time: He launched himself sideways, shoving Harry, Ron, and Hermione out of harm’s way as Xenophilius’s Stunning Spell soared across the room and hit the Erumpent horn.

There was a colossal explosion. The sound of it seemed to blow the room apart: Fragments of wood and paper and rubble flew in all directions, along with an impenetrable cloud of thick white dust. The Doctor felt himself fly through the air, crashing on the floor, unable to see as debris rained down upon him. He heard Hermione’s scream, Ron’s yell, Harry’s shout, and a series of sickening metallic thuds, which told him that Xenophilius had been blasted off his feet and fallen backward down the spiral stairs.

Half buried in rubble, the Doctor raised himself from the dust. Half the ceiling had fallen in, and the end of Luna’s bed was hanging through the hole. The Doctor made eye-contact with Hermione, Harry and Ron, signalling for them to keep quiet.

The door downstairs crashed open.

“Didn’t I tell you there was no need to hurry, Travers?” said a rough voice. “Didn’t I tell you this nutter was just raving as usual?”

There was a bang and a scream of pain from Xenophilius.

“No…no…upstairs…Potter!”

“I told you last week, Lovegood, we weren’t coming back for anything less than solid information? Remember last week? When you wanted to swap your daughter for that stupid bleeding headdress? And the week before’ – another bang, another squeal – “when you thought we’d give her back if you offered us proof there are Crumple” –  _ bang _ – “Headed” –  _ bang _ – “Snorkacks?”

“No – no – I beg you!” sobbed Xenophilius. “It really is Potter! Really!”

“And now it turns out you only called us here to try and blow us up!” roared the Death Eater, and there was a volley of bangs interspersed with squeals of agony from Xenophilius.

“This place looks like it’s about to fall in, Travers,” said a cool second voice, echoing up the mingled staircase. “The stairs are completely blocked. Could try clearing it? Might bring the place down.”

“You lying piece of filth,” shouted the wizard named Travers. “You’ve never seen Potter in your life, have you? Thought you’d lure us here to kill us, did you? And you think you’ll get your girl back like this?”

“I swear…I swear…Potter’s upstairs!”

“ _ Homenum Revelio _ ,” said the voice at the foot of the stairs.

The Doctor heard Hermione gasp, “There’s someone up there all right, Selwyn,” said Travers sharply.

“It’s Potter, I tell you, it’s Potter!” Sobbed Xenophilius. “Please…please…give me Luna, just let me have Luna…”

“You can have your little girl, Lovegood,” said Travers, “if you get up those stairs and bring me down Harry Potter. But if this is a plat, if it’s a trick, if you’ve got an accomplice waiting up there to ambush us, we’ll see if we can spare a bit of your daughter for you to bury.” Xenophilius gave a wail of fear and despair. There were scurryings and scrapings: Xenophilius was trying to get through the debris on the stairs.

“Come on,” Harry whispered, “we’ve got to get out of here.” Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the Doctor dug their way out, the Doctor looked at them,

“Do you trust me?”  
“Yes.” Harry said quickly,

“Yeah,” Ron said,

“Yes,” Hermione said after a moment’s hesitation.

“Ron, get under the Cloak. Grab ahold of each other, and when I say, Disapparate to the Forest of Avon. I’ll meet you there.”

“What are you going to do?” The Doctor didn’t respond, Ron put on the Invisibility Cloak, suddenly, just as Xenophilius’s paper-white face appeared over the top of the sideboard.

“Obliviate!” The Doctor cried, pointing his wand first into Xenophilius’s face, then at the floor beneath them. “ _ Deprimo!” _

He had blasted a hole in the sitting room floor. They fell, the Doctor sliding down. He saw two men trying to get out of the way as vast quantities of rubble and broken furniture rained all around them from the shattered ceiling. He watched Harry, Ron, and Hermione twist in midair and disappear, but the Doctor continued to slide until he was right in front of the Death Eaters, “Who are you?” They demanded, but the Doctor’s wand was out and threatening, he wordlessly disarmed them, his anger boiling over, “I am the Doctor,” he said, “Feared throughout the universe, known as the Oncoming Storm, Destroyer of Worlds, and if you don’t give back Xenophilius’s daughter, I will come for you. And you don’t want that.” And with that, the Doctor Disapparated, two extra wands in hand.   
  



	19. The Deathly Hallows

The Doctor fell onto the grass and stood up. It was dusk, Hermione was already running in a circle around them, waving her wand. “ _Protego Totalum…Salvio Hexia…_ ”

“That treacherous old bleeder!” Ron was panting, he had already removed the Invisibility Cloak and was throwing it at Harry. “Doctor, you’re a genius, a total genius, I can’t believe we got out of that!”

“ _Cave Inimicum…_ ” Hermione was saying, turning to look at the Doctor, “Didn’t I _say_ it was an Erumpent horn, didn’t I tell him? And now his house has been blown apart!”

“Serves him right,” said Ron, examining his torn jeans and the cuts to his legs. “What d’you reckon they’ll do to him?”

“Oh, I hope they don’t kill him!” Groaned Hermione.

“They shouldn’t,” The Doctor said, “That’s why I wanted the Death Eaters to get a glimpse of Harry before we left, so they knew Xenophilius hadn’t been lying.”

“Doctor…” Hermione said quietly, “What did you mean when you said you knew what it was like to lose a child?” The Doctor hesitated,

“I was a father once, a grandfather as well…” He noticed the look from Hermione, “You keep forgetting, I’m over ninehundred years old, I’ve lost track to be honest, when you live long enough…”

“What happened to them? Your family, I mean?” said Hermione, “I know you said you didn’t have any anymore, but what happened?” There was a pregnant pause, and finally the Doctor spoke,

“There was a war. A Time War, and we lost.”

“Doctor, when we were in the forest…” Ron said, “The Locket, it said some things…”

“And what did you mean when you said you’ve done some bad things?” The Doctor closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them,

“The Time Lords, my people, wanted to ascend…” He said, “They wanted to destroy the rest of the universe to win the war…I couldn’t let that happen. So I destroyed it. Gallifrey, the Time Lords, the Daleks, everyone.” He closed his eyes again, “My family, my friends…”

“Oh, Doctor, I’m so sorry.” Hermione whispered.

“Come on, It’s getting dark…” Harry said, “We’d better put up the tent.”

They put up the tent and retreated inside it, where the Doctor made them tea. “Oh, why did we go there?” groaned Hermione after a few minutes’ silence. “Harry, you were right, it was Godric’s Hollow all over again, a complete waste of time! The Deathly Hallows…such rubbish…although actually,” a sudden thought seemed to have struck her, “he might have made it all up, mightn’t he? He probably doesn’t believe in the Deathly Hallows at all, he just wanted to keep us talking until the Death Eaters arrived!”

“I don’t think so,” said Ron. “It’s a damn sight harder making stuff up when you’re under stress than you’d think. I found that out when the Snatchers caught me. I was much easier pretending to be Stan because I knew a bit about him, then inventing a whole new person. Old Lovegood was under loads of pressure, trying to make sure we stayed put. I reckon he told us the truth, or what he thinks is the truth, just to keep us talking.”

“Well, I don’t suppose it matters,” sighed Hermione. “Even if he was being honest, I never heard such a lot of nonsense in all my life.”

“I don’t think it’s nonsense.” The Doctor said, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Harry pull out his Invisibility Cloak, letting the smooth fabric run through his fingers. Suddenly, Harry gasped,

“Dumbledore had my Cloak the night my parents died!” His voice shook, “My mum told Sirius that Dumbledore borrowed the Cloak! This is why! He wanted to examine it, because he thought it was the third Hallow! Ignotus Peverell is buried in Godric’s Hollow…” Harry was walking blindly around the tent, “He’s my ancestor! I’m descended from the third brother! It all makes sense!”

“Harry,” said Hermione, but Harry was busy undoing the pouch around his neck, his fingers shaking hard.

“Read it,” he told her, pushing his mother’s letter into her had. “Read it! Dumbledore hat the Cloak, Hermione! Why else would he want it? He didn’t need a cloak, he could perform a Disillusionment Charm so powerful that he made himself completely invisible without one!”

Something fell to the floor and rolled, glittering, under a chair: He had dislodged the Snitch when he pulled out the letter. He stooped to pick it up, and then paused, and a shock of wonder seemed to erupt inside him so that he shouted out.

“IT’S IN HERE! He left me the ring – it’s the Snitch!”

“You – you reckon?” said Ron, then, Harry froze,

“That’s what he’s after. You-Know-Who’s after the Elder Wand.” The Doctor nodded,

“Harry,” said Hermione, handing back Lily’s letter, “I’m sorry, but I think you’ve got this wrong, all wrong.”

“No, it doesn’t,” she said, “It _doesn’t,_ Harry, you’re just getting carried away. Please,” she said as he started to speak, “please just answer me this: If the Deathly Hallows really existed, and Dumbledore knew about them, knew that the person who possessed all three of them would be master of Death – Harry, why wouldn’t he have told you? Why?”

“Hermione,” The Doctor said,

“Doctor, don’t even start,” Hermione said, “What are you going to tell me that aliens came down and posed as Death to try to destroy humanity?” The Doctor hesitated,

“Well…”

“You can’t be serious!”

“I’ll take first watch.” The Doctor said, making his way out of the tent.

The next evening, when Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the Doctor returned to the tent after looking around the village just a short way, the radio was on. “It’s Potterwatch!” Ron gasped, running in,

“…apologize for our temporary absence from the airwaves, which was due to a number of house calls in our area by those charming Death Eaters.” A voice was saying,

“But that’s Lee Jordan!” said Hermione.

“I know!” beamed Ron. “Cool, eh?”

“…now found ourselves another secure location,” Lee was saying, “and I’m please to tell you that two of our regular contributors have joined me here this evening. Evening boys!”

“Hi.”

“Evening, River.”

“‘River,’ that’s Lee,” Ron explained. “They’ve all got code names, but you can usually tell –”

“Shh!” said Hermione.

“But before we hear from Royal and Romulus,” Lee went on, “let’s take a moment to report those deaths that the _Wizarding Wireless Network and News_ and _Daily Prophet_ don’t think important enough to mention. It is with great regret that we inform our listeners of the murders of Ted Tonks and Dirk Cresswell. A goblin by the name of Gornuk was also killed. It is believed that Muggle-born Dean Thomas and a second goblin, bot believed to have been traveling with Tonks, Cresswell, and Gornuk may have escaped. If Dean is listening, or anyone has any knowledge of his whereabouts, his parents and sisters are desperate for news.

“Meanwhile, in Gaddley, a Muggle family of five has been found dead in their home. Muggle authorities are attributing the deaths to a gas leak, but members of the Order of the Phoenix inform me of the fact that Muggle slaughter is becoming little more than a recreational sport under the new regime.

“Finally, we regret to inform our listeners that the remains of Bathilda Bagshot have been discovered in Godric’s Hollow. The evidence is that she died several months ago. The Order of the Phoenix informs us that her body showed unmistakable signs of injuries inflicted by Dark Magic.

“Listeners, I’d like to invite you now to join us in a minute’s silence in memory of Ted Tonks, Dirk Cresswell, Bathilda Bagshot, Gornuk, and the unnamed, but no less regretted, Muggles murdered by the Death Eaters.”

“Silence fell, and Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the Doctor did not speak.

“Thank you,” said Lee’s voice. “And now we turn to regular contributor Royal, for an update on how the new Wizarding order is affecting the Muggle world.”

“Thanks, River,” said a deep, measured, and reassuring voice.

“Kingsley!” burst out Ron.

“We know!” said Hermione, hushing him.

“Muggles remain ignorant of the source of their suffering as they continue to sustain heavy casualties,” said Kingsley. “However, we continue to hear truly inspirational stories of wizards and witches risking their own safety to protect Muggle friends and neighbors, often without the Muggles’ knowledge. I’d like to appeal to all our listeners to emulate their example, perhaps by casting a protective charm over any Muggle dwellings in your street. Many lives could be saved if such simple measures are taken.”

“And what would you say, Roay, to those listeners who reply that in these dangerous times, it should be ‘Wizards first’?” asked Lee.

“I’d say that it’s one short step from ‘WIzards first’ to ‘Purebloods first,’  and then to ‘Death Eaters,’ replied Kingsley. “We’re all human, aren’t we? Every human life is worth the same, and worth saving.”

“Excellently put, Royal, and you’ve got my vote for Minister of Magic if ever we get out of this mess,” said Lee. “And now, over to Romulus for our popular feature ‘Pals of Potter.’”

“Thanks River,” said a very familiar voice; Ron started to speak, but Hermione forestalled him in a whisper.

“ _We know it’s Lupin!”_

“Romulus, do you maintain, as you have every time you’ve appeared on our program, that Harry Potter is still alive?”

“I do,” said Lupin firmly. “There is no doubt at all in my mind that his death would be proclaimed as widely as possible by the Death Eaters if it had happened, because it would strike a deadly blow at the morale of those resisting the new regime. ‘The Boy Who Lived’ remains a symbol of everything for which we are fighting: the triumph of good, the power of innocence, the need to keep resisting.”

“And what would you say to Harry if you knew he was listening, Romulus?”

“I’d tell him we’re all with him in spirit,” said Lupin, then hesitated slightly. “And I’d tell him to follow his instincts, which are good and nearly always right.”

“Nearly always right,” Hermione repeated.

“Oh, didn’t I tell you?” said Ron in surprise. “Bill told me Lupin’s living with Tonks again! And apparently she’s getting pretty big too…”

“…and our usual update on those friends of Harry Potter’s who are suffering for their allegiance?” Lee was saying.

“Well, as regular listeners will know, several of the more outspoken supporters of Harry Potter have now been imprisoned, including Xenophilius Lovegood, erstwhile editor of _The Quibbler_ ,” said Lupin.

The Doctor felt anger boil up inside him, when he got back to the TARDIS, he would be paying someone a visit.

“We have also heard within the last few hours that Rubeus Hagrid” – the Doctor heard Harry, Ron, and Hermione all gasp, – “well-known gamekeeper at Hogwarts School, has narrowly escaped arrest within the grounds of Hogwarts, where he is rumored to have hosted a ‘Support Harry Potter’ party in his house. However, Hagrid was not taken into custody and is, we believe, on the run.”

“I suppose it helps, when escaping from Death Eaters, if you’ve got a sixteen-foot-high half brother?” asked Lee.

“It would tend to give you an edge,” agreed Lupin gravely. “May I add that while here at _Potterwatch_ applaud Hagrid’s spirit, we would urge even the most devoted of Harry’s supporters against following Hagrid’s lead. ‘Support Harry Potter’ parties are unwise in the present climate.”

“Indeed they are, Romulus,” said Lee, “so we suggest that you continue to show your devotion the the man with the lightning scar by listening to _Potterwatch_! And now let’s move to news concerning the wizard who is proving just as elusive as Harry Potter. We like to refer him as the Chief Death Eater, and here to give his views on some of the more insane rumors circulating about him, I’d like to introduce a new correspondent: Rodent.”

“ _Rodent’?”_ said another familiar voice, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione cried out together:

“Fred!”

“No – is it George?”  
“It’s Fred.” The Doctor said confidently.

“I’m not being ‘Rodent,’ no way, I told you I wanted to be ‘Rapier’!”

“Oh, all right then. ‘Rapier,’ could you please give us your take o the various stories we’ve been hearing about the Chief Death Eater?”

“Yes, River, I can,” said Fred. “As our listeners will know, unless they’ve taken refuge at the bottom of a garden pool or somewhere similar, You-Know-Who’s strategy of remaining in the shadows in creating a nice little climate of panic. Mind you, if all the alleged sightings of him are genuine, we must have a good nineteen You-Know-Whos running around the place.”

“Which suits him, of course,” said Kingsley. “The air of mystery is creating more terror than actually showing himself.”

“Agreed,” said Fred. “So, people, let’s try and calm down a bit. Things are bad enough without inventing stuff as well. For instance, this new idea that You-Know-Who can kill with a single glance from his eyes. That’s a _basilisk_ , listeners. One simple test: Check whether the thing that’s glaring at you has got legs. If it has, it’s safe to look into its eyes, although if it really is You-Know-Who, that’s still likely to be the last thing you ever do.”

“And the rumors that he keeps being sighted abroad?” asked Lee.

“Well, who wouldn’t want a nice little holiday after all the hard work he’s been putting in?” asked Fred. “Point is, people, don’t get lulled into a false sense of security, thinking he’s out of the country. Maybe he is, maybe he isn’t, but the fact remains he can move faster than Severus Snape confronted with shampoo when he wants to, so don’t count on him being a long way away if you’re planning on taking any risks. I never thought I’d hear myself say it, but safety first!”

“Thank you very much for those wise words, Rapier,” said Lee. “Listeners, that bring us to the end of another _Potterwatch._ We don’t know when it will be possible to broadcast again, but you can be sure we shall be back. Keep twiddling those dials: The next password will be ‘Mad-Eye.’ Keep each other safe: Keep faith. Good night.”

The radio fell silent. The Doctor turned to Harry, Ron, and Hermione, who were beaming.

“Good, eh?” said Ron happily.

“Brilliant,” said Harry.

“It’s so brave of them,” sighed Hermione admiringly. “If they were found…”

“Well, they keep on the move, don’t they?” said Ron. “Like us.”

“But did you hear what Fred said?” asked Harry excitedly, “He’s abroad! He’s still looking for the Wand, I knew it!”  
“Harry –”

“Come on, Hermione, why are you so determined not to admit it? Vol –”

“HARRY, NO!”

“ – demort’s after the Elder Wand!”

“The name’s Taboo!” Ron bellowed, leaping to his feet as a load crack sounded outside the tent. The Doctor was already up. “I told you Harry, I told you, we can’t say it anymore – we’ve got to put the protection back around us – quickly – it’s how they find –”

But Ron stopped talking, and the Doctor knew why. The Sneakoscope on the table had lit up and began to spin; they could hear voices coming nearer and nearer: rough, excited voices. Ron pulled the Deluminator out of his pocket and clicked it: Their lamps went out.

“Come out here with your hands up!” came a rasping voice through the darkness. “We know you’re in there! You’ve got a half a dozen wands pointing at you and we don’t care who we curse!”


	20. Malfoy Manor

The Doctor looked around at the other three. He watched Hermione point her wand, not toward the outside, but into Harry’s face; there was a bang and the Doctor watched his face swell up.

“Get up, vermin.” The Doctor, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were dragged out of the tent.

“Get – off – her!” Ron shouted as they dragged Hermione. The Doctor watched as one of the Death Eaters struck Ron’s face: Ron grunted in pain,

“Oi!” The Doctor shouted, and felt knuckles collide with his head as well.

“Search the tent!” said another voice.

The Doctor was thrown to the ground, and he heard Hermione, Ron, and Harry getting thrown beside him.

“Now, let’s see what we’ve got,” said the first Death Eater’s gloating voice from overhead, the Doctor watched Harry roll over and wandlight fall onto his face.

“I’ll be needing butterbeer to wash this one down. What happened to you, ugly?”

Harry did not answer immediately.

“I _said_ ,” he repeated, and Harry received a blow to the diaphragm, “what happened to you?”

“Stung,” Harry muttered. “Been stung.”

“Yeah, looks like it,” said a different Death Eater.

“What’s your name?” The first one demanded,

“Dudley,” said Harry.

“And your first name?”

“I – Vernon. Vernon Dudley.”

“Check the list, Scabior,” said the first one, and he looked sideways at the Doctor, “And what about you?”

“John Smith.” The Doctor said automatically, “What’s your blood status?”

“Half-blood.”

“Easy enough to check,” said Scabior, “and you, ginger?” he looked at Ron,

“Stan Shunpike,” said Ron.

“Like ‘ell you are,” said the man called Scabior. “We know Stan Shunpike, ‘e’s put a bit of work our way.” They punched him in the face,

“I’b Bardy,” said Ron, “Bardy Weadley.”

“A Weasley?” rasped the first one. “So you’re related to blood traitors even if you’re not Mudblood. And lastly, you’re pretty little friend…”

“Easy Greyback,” said Scabior over the jeering of the others.

“Oh, I’m not going to bite just yet. We’ll see if she’s a bit quicker at remembering her name than Barny.”

“Oh, you’re a Lupine Wavelength Haemovariform!” The Doctor said,

“What?” Greyback stormed closer to him,

“You know, there are –” But before the Doctor could even start, he was struck with a blow to the abdomen. “Now, that’s just rude –”  
“SILENCE.” Greyback demanded,

“Now, I should warn you,” the Doctor said, “I’m not very good at following orders.”

“Well, you will learn to be.” Greyback bared his teeth and struck the Doctor’s neck, but immediately reeled back, spitting the vile substance out. “What is _that_?” Greyback demanded,

“Oh, yes, your venom won’t work with my physiology. Sorry.” He grinned, but Scabior flicked his wand and covered his mouth.

“Now, what’s your name girly?” Greyback asked Hermione,

“Penelope Clearwater,” said Hermione. She sounded terrified, but convincing.

“What’s your blood status?”

“Half-blood,” said Hermione.

“Not that it matters,” said Scabior to the other Death Eaters, “the ‘ole lot of ‘em look like they could still be ‘ogwarts age –”

“We’b lebt,” said Ron.

“Left, ‘ave you, ginger?” asked Scabior. “And you decided to go camping? And you thought, just for a laugh, you’d use the Dark Lord’s name?”

“Nod a laugh,” said Ron. “Aggiden.”

“Accident?” There was more jeering laughter.

“You know who used to like using the Dark Lord’s name, Weasley?” growled Greyback. “The Order of the Phoenix. Mean anything to you?”

“Doh.”

“Well, they don’t show the Dark Lord proper respect, so the name’s been Tabooed. A few Order members have been tracked that way. We’ll see. Bind them up with the other two prisoners!” The Doctor, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were dragged a short way backward by the hair and pushed into a sitting position, back to back with two other people.

“Anyone still got a wand?” Hermione whispered, the Doctor shook his head, as his wand had been taken along with his psychic paper and Sonic Screwdriver.

“No,” said Ron, Hermione, and Harry,

“This is all my fault.” Harry said, “I said the name, I’m sorry –”

“Harry?”

It was a new, but familiar, voice that came from directly behind the Doctor.

“ _Dean?”_ Harry whispered,

“It _is_ you! If they find out who they’ve got – ! They’re Snatchers, they’re only looking for truants to sell for gold –”

“Not a bad little haul for one night,” Greyback was saying, they heard crashes from inside the tent. “A Mudblood, a runaway goblin, and four truants. You checked their names on the list yet, Scabior?” He roared.

“Yeah. There’s no Vernon Dudley or John Smith on ‘ere, Greyback.”

“Interesting,” said Greyback. “That’s interesting.” He crouched beside Harry first, “So you aren’t wanted, then, Vernon? Or are you on that list under a different name? What house were you in at Hogwarts?”

“Slytherin,” said Harry automatically.

“Funny, ‘ow they all thinks we wants to ‘ear that,” jeered Scabior out of the shadows. “But none of ‘em can tell us where the common room is.”

“It’s in the dungeons,” said Harry clearly. “You enter through the wall. It’s full of skulls and stuff and it’s under the lake, so the light’s all green.”

There was a short pause.

“Well, well, looks like we really ‘ave caught a little Slytherin,” said Scabior. “Good for you, Vernon, ‘cause there ain’t a lot of Mudblood Slytherins. Whos’ your father?”

“He works at the Ministry,” Harry lied. “Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes.”

“You know what, Greyback,” said Scabior. “I think there _is_ a Dudley in there.”

“Well, well,” said Greyback, and the Doctor could hear the tiniest note of trepidation in that callous voice, and knew that Greyback was wondering whether he had indeed just attacked and bound the son of a Ministry official. “If you’re telling the truth, ugly, you’ve got nothing to fear from a trip to the Ministry. I expect your father’ll reward us just for picking you up.”

“But,” said Harry, “if you just let us –”

“Hey!” Came a shout from inside the tent. “Look a this Greyback!”

A dark figure came bursting toward them, and the Doctor saw a glint of silver in the light of their wands. They had found Gryffindor’s sword.

“Ve-e-ry nice,” said Greyback appreciatively, taking it from his companion. “Oh, very nice indeed. Looks goblin-made, that. Where did you get something like this?”

“It’s my father’s,” Harry lied, “We borrowed it to cut firewood –”

“‘Ang on a minute, Greyback! Look at this, in the _Prophet!”_

As Scabior said it, the Doctor watched Harry grimace, his scar looked to be hurting.

“ _‘ermione Granger_ ,” Scabior was saying, “ _the Mudblood who is known to be traveling with ‘arry Potter.’”_

Greyback crouched down in front of Hermione, “You know what, little girly? This picture looks a hell of a lot like you.”

“It isn’t! It isn’t me!” Hermione’s terrified squeak was as good as a confession.

“ _…known to be traveling with Harry Potter,_ ” repeated Greyback quietly.

A stillness had settled over the scene, the Doctor couldn’t speak because of the spell put on him, and Harry, Ron, Hermione, Dean, and Gornuk stayed silent.

“Well, this changes things, doesn’t it?” Whispered Greyback. Nobody spoke: The Doctor saw the gang of Snatchers watching, frozen, and he felt Hermione’s arm trembling against his own. Greyback got up and took a couple steps to where Harry sat, crouching down again to stare closely at his misshapen features.

“What’s that on your forehead, Vernon?” he asked softly as he pressed a filthy finger to the taut scar.

“Don’t touch it!” Harry yelled,

“I thought you wore glasses, Potter?” breathed Greyback.

“I found glasses!” yelped one of the Snatchers skulking in the background. “There was glasses in the tent, Greyback, wait –”

And seconds later, Harry’s glasses had been rammed back onto his face. The Snatchers were closing in now, peering at him.

“It is!” rasped Greyback. “We’ve caught Potter!”

They all took several steps backward, stunned by what they had done. The Doctor looked at Harry, his eyes were squeezed shut,

“…to the Ministry?” Scabior was saying,

“To hell with the Ministry,” growled Greyback. “They’ll take the credit, and we won’t get a look in. I say we take him straight to You-Know-Who.”

“Will you summon ‘im? _Ere?”_ said Scabior, sounding awed, terrified.

“No,” snarled Greyback, “I haven’t got – they say he’s using the Malfoy’s place as a base. We’ll take the boy there.”

“Are you completely sure it’s him? ‘Cause if it ain’t, Greyback, we’re dead.”

“Who’s in charge here?” roared Greyback, covering his moment of inadequacy. “I say that’s Potter, and him plus his wand, that’s two hundred thousand Galleons right there! But if you’re too gutless to come along, any of you, it’s all for me, and with any luck, I’ll get the girl thrown in!”

“All right!” said Scabior. “All right, we’re in! And what about the rest of ‘em, Greyback, what’ll we do with ‘em?”

“We’ve got three Mudbloods, that’s another ten Galleons. Give me the sword as well. If they’re rubies, that’s another small fortune right there.”

The prisoners were dragged to their feet. “Grab hold and make it tight. I’ll do Potter!” said Greyback, seizing a firstful of Harry’s hair. “On three! One – two – three –”

They Disapparated, pulling the prisoners with them. Finally, they lurched into one another as they landed in a country lane in front of a fortresslike manor. One of the Snatchers strode to the gates and shook them.

“How do we get in? They’re locked, Greyback, I can’t – blimey!”  
He whipped his hands away in fright. The iron was contorting, twisting itself out of the abstract furls and coils into a face which spoke in a clanging, echoing voice: “State your purpose!”

“We’ve got Potter!” Greyback roared triumphantly. “We’ve captured Harry Potter!”

The gates swung open.

“Come on!” said Greyback to his men, and the prisoners were shunted through the gates and up the drive, between high hedges that muffled their footsteps. The Doctor saw a ghostly white shape above him, and realized it was an albino peacock. They were pushed over gravel and light spilled out over all of them.

“What is this?” said a woman’s cold voice.

“We’re here to see He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!” rasped Greyback.

“Who are you?”

“You know me!” There was a resentment in the werewolf’s voice. “Fenrir Greyback! We’ve caught Harry Potter!”

Greyback seized Harry and dragged him around to face the light, forcing the other prisoners to shuffle around too.

“I know ‘e’s swollen, ma’am, but it’s ‘im!” piped up Scabior.”If you look a bit closer, you’ll see ‘is scar. And this ‘ere, see the girl? The Mudblood who’s been traveling around with ‘im, ma’am. There’s no doubt it’s ‘im, and we’ve got ‘is wand as well! ‘Ere, ma’am –”

The woman took the wand and raised her eyebrows. “Bring them in,” she said.

The Doctor and the others were shoved and kicked up broad stone steps into a hallway lined with portraits. “Follow me,” said the woman, leading the way across the hall. “My son, Draco, is home for his Easter holidays. If that is Harry Potter, he will know.”

The crystal chandelier shone in the drawing room, more portraits against the dark purple walls. Two figures rose from chairs in front of an ornate marble fireplace as the prisoners were forced into the room by the Snatchers.

“What is this?” A man strode into the room.

“They say they’ve got Potter,” said the woman, “Draco, come here.” The boy who must have been Draco walked in.

Greyback forced the prisoners to turn again so as to place Harry directly beneath the chandelier. “Well, boy?” rasped the werewolf.

The Doctor watched Draco, he was sweating, under pressure, afraid.  
“Well, Draco?” said the man, he sounded avid. “Is it? Is it Harry Potter?”

“I can’t – I can’t be sure,” said Draco. He was keeping his distance from Greyback, and seemed terrified of Harry.

“But look carefully, look! Come closer!” The man said, pushing the boy forward, “Draco, if we are the ones who hand Potter over to the Dark Lord, everything will be forgiv –”

“Now, we won’t be forgetting who actually caught him, I hope, Mr. Malfoy?” said Greyback menacingly.

“Of course not, of course not!” said the man impatiently. He approached Harry himself, he came so close that they were nearly touching noses.

“What did you do to him?” Mr. Malfoy asked Greyback. “How did he get into this state?”

“That wasn’t us.”

“Looks more like a Stinging Jinx to me,” said Mr. Malfoy. His gray eyes raked Harry’s forehead.

“There’s something there,” he whispered, “it could be the scar, stretched tight…Draco, come here, look properly! What do you think?”

Draco was shaking, staring at Harry with fear.

“I don’t know,” he said, and he walked away toward the fireplace where the woman, who must have been his mother, stood watching.

“We had better be certain, Lucius,” Mrs. Malfoy called to Mr. Malfoy in her cold, clear voice. “Completely sure that it is Potter, before we summon the Dark Lord…They say this is his” – she was looking closely at the blackthorn wand – “but it does not resemble Ollivander’s description…If we are mistake, if we call the Dark Lord here for nothing…Remember what he did to Rowle and Dolohov?”

“What about the Mudblood, then?” growled Greyback. Harry was nearly thrown off his feet as the Snatchers forced the prisoners to swivel around again, so that the light fell on Hermione instead.

“Wait,” said Mrs. Malfoy sharply. “Yes – yes, she was in Madam Malkin’s with Potter! I saw her picture in the _Prophet!_ Look, Draco, isn’t it the Granger girl?”

“I…maybe…yeah.”

“But then, that’s the Weasley boy!” shouted Lucius, striding around the bound of prisoners to face Ron. “It’s them, Potter’s friends – Draco, look at him, isn’t it Arthur Weasley’s son, what’s his name – ?”

“Yeah,” said Draco again, his back to the prisoners. “It could be.”

The drawing room door opened behind the Doctor. A woman spoke, “What is this? What’s happened, Cissy?” A woman the Doctor recognized as Bellatrix Lestrange walked slowly around the prisoners and stopped on the Doctor’s right, staring at Hermione through her heavily lidded eyes.

“But surely,” she said quietly, “this is the Mudblood girl? This is Granger?”

“Yes, yes, it’s Granger!” cried Lucius. “And beside her, we think, Potter! Potter and his friends, caught at last!”

“Potter!” shrieked Bellatrix, and she backed away, the better to take in Harry. “Are you sure?” Well then, the Dark Lord must be informed at once!”

She dragged back her left sleeve: The Doctor saw a tattoo of a skull with a snake sliding out of it burned into the flesh of her arm, and knew that she was about to touch it, summon her beloved master –

“I was about to call him!” said Lucius, and his hand actually closed upon Bellatrix’s wrist, preventing her from touching the Mark. “ _I_ shall summon him, Bella, Potter has been brought to my house, and it is therefore upon my authority –”

“Your authority!” she sneered, attempting to wrench her hand from his grasp. “You lost your authority when you lost your wand Lucius! How dare you! Take your hands off me!”

“This is nothing to do with you, you did not capture the boy –”

“Begging your pardon, _Mr_. Malfoy,” interjected Greyback, “but it’s us that caught Potter, and it’s us that’ll be claiming the gold –”

“Gold!” laughed Bellatrix, still attempting to throw off Lucius, her free hand groping in her pocket for her wand. “Take your gold, filthy scavenger, what do I want with gold? I seek only the honor of his – of –”

She stopped struggling, her dark eyes fixed upon the sword that Greyback was holding. Jubilant at her capitulation, Lucius threw her hand from him and ripped up his own sleeve –

“STOP!” shrieked Bellatrix. “Don’t touch it, we shall all perish if the Dark Lord comes now!”

Lucius froze, his index finger hovering over his own Mark. Bellatrix strode out over to Greyback. “What is that?” she demanded,

“Sword,” grunted one of the Snatchers.

“Give it to me.”

“It’s not yorn, missus, it’s mine, I reckon I found it.”

There was a bang and a flash of red light, and the Snatcher had been Stunned. There was a roar of anger from his fellows, Scabior drew his wand.

“What d’you think you’re playing at, woman?”

“ _Stupify!”_ she screamed. “ _Stupify!”_

They were no match for her, even though there were four of them against one of her: She was a witch, as the Doctor knew, with prodigious skill and no conscience. THey fell where they stood, all except Greyback, who had been forced into a kneeling position, his arms outstretched. She bared down upon the werewolf, the sword of Gryffindor gripped tightly in her hand, her face waxen.

“Where did you get this sword?” she whispered to Greyback as she pulled his wand from his unresisting grip.

“How dare you?” he snarled, his mouth the only thing that could move as he was forced to gaze up at her. He bared his pointed teeth. “Release me, woman!”

“Where did you find this sword?” She repeated, brandishing it in his face. “Snape sent it to my vault in Gringotts!”

“It was in their tent,” rasped Greyback. “Release me, I say!”

She waved her wand, and the werewolf sprang to his feet, but appeared too wary to approach her. He prowled behind an armchair, his filthy curved nails clutching its back.

“Draco, move this scum outside,” said Bellatrix, indicating the unconscious men. “If you haven’t got the guts to finished them, then leave them in the courtyard for me.”

“Don’t you dare speak to Draco like –” said Mrs. Malfoy furiously, but Bellatrix screamed,

“Be quiet! The situation is graver than you can possibly imagine, Cissy! We have a very serious problem.”

She stood, panting slightly, looking down at the sword, examining its hilt. Then she turned to look at the silent prisoners.

“If it is indeed Potter, he must not be harmed,” she muttered, more to herself than to the others. “The Dark Lord wishes to dispose of Potter himself…But if he finds out…I must…I must know…”

She turned to Mrs. Malfoy again.

“The prisoners must be placed in the cellar, while I think what to do!”

“This is my house, Bella, you don’t give orders in my –”

“Do it! You have no idea of the danger we are in!” shrieked Bellatrix. She looked frightening, mad; a thin stream of fire issued from her wand and burned a hole in the capet.

Mrs. Malfoy hesitated for a moment, then addressed the werewolf. “Take these prisoners down to the cellar, Greyback.” The Doctor felt the enchantment sealing his mouth finally release,

“Wait,” said Bellatrix sharply. “All except…except for the Mudblood.”

“How about you take me instead.” The Doctor said, “I’ve got loads of information just waiting to be spilled.” Bellatrix hit him across the face; the blow echoed around the room.

“If she dies under questioning, I’ll take you next,” she said,

“Oi, I’m a Muggle-born too,” The Doctor lied, “Muggle-borns together, yes?”

Bellatrix shot a spell at the Doctor, sending him flying across the room. “Take them downstairs, Greyback, and make sure they are secure, but do nothing more to them – yet.”

She threw Greyback’s wand back to him, then took a short silver knife from under her robes. She cut Hermione free from the other prisoners, then dragged her by the hair into the middle of the room, while Greyback forced the rest of them to shuffle across to another door, into a dark passageway, his wand held out in front of him, projecting an invisible and irresistible force.

“Reckon she’ll let me have a bit of the girl when she’s finished with her?” Greyback crooned as he forced them along the corridor.  
“Over my dead body.” The Doctor said angrily,

“It might just be.” Greyback snarled.

They were forced down a steep flight of stairs, still tied back-to-back and in danger of slipping at any moment. At the bottom was a heavy door. Greyback unlocked it with a tap of his wand, then forced them into a dank and musty room and left them in total darkness. The echoing bang of the slammed cellar door had not died away before there was a terrible, drawn-out scream from directly above them.  
“HERMIONE!” Ron bellowed, and he started to writhe and struggle against the ropes tying them together. “HERMIONE!”

“Be quiet.” The Doctor hissed, “I need to think, think, think, think!”

“The Doctor’s right,” Harry said to Ron. Ron stopped shouting. There was a sound of movement close by them, then the Doctor saw a young girl moving toward them.

“Harry? Ron? Doctor?”

“ _Luna?”_ Harry and Ron gasped,

“Yeah, it’s me! Oh no, I didn’t want you to be caught!”

“Luna, can you help us get these ropes off?” said Harry.

“Oh yes, I expect so…There’s an old nail we use if we need to break anything…Just a moment…”

Hermione screamed again from overhead. The Doctor closed his eyes, wishing it were him up there instead. Ron shouted again,

“HERMIONE! HERMIONE!”

“Mr. Ollivander?” The Doctor could hear Luna saying. “Mr. Ollivander, have you go the nail? If you just move over a little bit…I think it was beside the water jug…”  
She was back within seconds.

“You’ll need to stay still,” she said.

The Doctor could feel her digging at the rope’s tough fibers to work the knots free. From upstairs, they head Bellatrix’s voice.

“I’m going to ask you again! Where did you get this sword? _Where?”_

“We found it – we found it – PLEASE!” Hermione screamed again; Ron struggled harder than ever, and the rusty nail slipped onto the Doctor’s wrist.

“Ron, please stay still!” Luna whispered. “I can’t see what I’m doing –”

“My pocket!” said Ron. “In my pocket, there’s a Deluminator, and it’s full of light!”

A few seconds later, there was a click and the luminescent spheres of the Deluminator ha d sucked from the lamps in the tent flew into the cellar: Unable to rejoin their sources, they simply hung there, like tiny suns, flooding the underground room with light. This gave the Doctor a better look at Luna, all eyes in her white face, and the motionless figure of Ollivander the wandmaker, curled up on the floor in the corner. A goblin, who seemed barely conscious, kept standing by the ropes that bound him to the humans.

“Oh, that’s much easier, thanks, Ron,” said Luna and she began hacking at their bindings again. “Hello, Dean!”

From above came Bellatrix’s voice.

“You are lying, filthy Mudblood, and I know it! You have been inside my vault at Gringotts! Tell the truth, _tell the truth!”_

Another terrible scream –

“HERMIONE!”

“What else did you take? What else have you got? Tell me the truth or, I swear, I shall run you through with this knife!”

“There!”

The Doctor felt the ropes fall away and turned to see Ron running around the cellar, looking up at the low ceiling, searching for a trapdoor. Dean, his face bruised and bloody, said “Thanks” to Luna and stood there, shivering, but the goblin sank onto the cellar floor, looking groggy and disoriented, many welts across his swarthy face.

Ron was now trying to Disapparate without a wand.

“There’s no way out, Ron,” said Luna, watching his fruitless efforts. “The cellar is completely escape-proof. I tried, at first. Mr. Ollivander has been here for a long time, he’s tried everything.

Hermione was screaming again: The sound went through the Doctor like physical pain.

“What else did you take, what else? ANSWER ME! _CRUCIO!”_

Hermione’s screams echoed off the walls upstairs, Ron was half sobbing as he pounded the walls with his fists, and the Doctor watched Harry grope inside the pouch around his neck: He pulled out Dumbledore’s Snitch and shook it, clearly hoping for something to happen. When nothing did, he pulled a mirror fragment out.

“Help us!” Harry yelled into it, “We’re in the cellar at Malfoy Manor, help us!” He then tilted the mirror, as if what had been in there was now gone. Ron continued to bellow,

“HERMIONE! HERMIONE!”

“How did you get into my vault?” they heard Bellatrix scream. “Did that dirty little goblin in the cellar help you?”  
“We only met him tonight!” Hermione sobbed. “We’ve never been inside your fault…It isn’t the real sword! It’s a copy, just a copy!”

“A copy?” screeched Bellatrix. “Oh, a likely story!”

“But we can find out easily!” came Lucius’s voice. “Draco, fetch the gobin, he can tell us whether the sword is real or not.”

The Doctor turned to the goblin. “Please.” He said, “You need to tell them it’s a fake. They can’t know it’s real.”  
He could hear someone scuttling down the cellar steps; the next moment, Draco’s shaking voice spoke from behind the door.

“Stand back. Line up against the back wall. Don’t try anything, or I’ll kill you!”

They did as they were bidden; as the lock turned, Ron clicked the Deluminator and the lights whisked back into his pocket, restoring the cellar’s darkness. The door flew open; Draco marched inside, wand held in front of him, pale and determined. He seized the little goblin by the arm and backed out again, dragging the goblin with him. The door slammed shut and at the same moment a loud _crack_ echoed inside the cellar.

Ron clicked the Deluminator. Three balls of light flew back into the air from his pocket, revealing a small house-elf who had just Apparated into their midst.

“DOB –”

Harry hit Ron on the arm to stop him shouting, and Ron looked terrified at his mistake. Footsteps crossed the ceiling overhead: Draco marching the goblin to Bellatrix.

The house-elf’s enormous, tennis-ball-shaped eyes were wide; he was trembling from his feet to the tips of his ears.

“Hello,” The Doctor said softly, kneeling down to meet eye-level with him,

“Hello, I am Dobby,” Dobby said, “Dobby the house elf, and Dobby has come to rescue Harry Potter.”

An awful scream came from upstairs: Hermione was being tortured again. The Doctor looked at him,

“Can you Disapparate out of this cellar?” he asked Dobby, who nodded, his ears flapping.

“And you can take humans with you?” Harry asked,

Dobby nodded again.

“Right,” Harry said, “Dobby, I want you to grab Luna, Dean, and Mr. Ollivander,and take them – take them to –”

“Bill and Fleur’s,” said Ron. “Shell Cottage on the outskirts of Tinworth!”

The elf nodded.

“Then come back,” said Harry. “Can you do that, Dobby?”

“Of course, Harry Potter,” whispered the little elf. He hurried over to Mr. Ollivander, who appeared to be barely conscious. He took one of the wandmaker’s hands in his own, then held out the other to Luna and Dean, neither of whom moved.”

“Harry, we want to help you!” Luna whispered.

“We can’t leave you here,” said Dean.  
“You’re not.” The Doctor said, “We’ll be right behind you.” The Doctor watched Harry drop to his knees, his hands on his scar, “Go!” He said, “We’ll follow, just go!” He ran to Harry’s side.

They caught hold of the elf’s outstretched fingers. There was another loud _crack_ , and Dobby, Luna, Dean, and Ollivander vanished.

“What was that?” Shouted Lucius Malfoy from over their heads. “Did you hear that?” What was that noise in the cellar?”

Harry, Ron, and the Doctor exchanged a look.

“Draco – no, call Wormtail! Make him go and check!”

Footsteps crossed the room overhead, then there was silence. The Doctor knew that the people in the drawing room were listening for more noises in the cellar.

“We’re going to have to try and tackle him,” Harry whispered,

“Leave the lights on,” The Doctor added, and as they heard someone descending the steps outside the door, they backed against the wall on either side of it.

“Stand back,” came Wormtail’s voice. “Stand away from the door. I am coming in.”

The door flew open. For a split second, Wormtail gazed into the apparently empty cellar, ablaze with light from the three miniature suns floating in midair. Then Harry and Ron launched themselves upon him. The Doctor seized his wand, pulling it from his grip, Harry threw a hand over his mouth, muffling his voice.

“What is it, Wormtail?” called Lucius Malfoy from above.

“Nothing!” Ron called back, in a passable imitation of Wormtail’s wheezy voice. “All fine!” The Doctor watched the silver fingers of his metal hand slide towards Harry’s throat.

“You’re going to kill me?” Harry choked as he and the Doctor attempted to prise off the metal fingers. “After I saved your life? You owe me, Wormtail!”

The silver fingers slackened. Neither Harry nor the Doctor had expected it: Harry wrenched himself free. He saw the man’s small watery eyes widen with fear and surprise: He seemed just as surprised at what his hand had done. At the tiny, merciful impulse it had betrayed, and he continued to struggle more powerfully, as though to undo that moment of weakness.

Suddenly, Wormtail’s pupils dilated in terror. His eyes had slid from Harry’s face to something else. His own silver fingers were moving inexorably toward his own throat.

“No –” Without hesitation, the Doctor lunged at the fingers, using every ounce of his strength to pull it away from his throat, but there was no stopping it.

“No!” Ron had released Wormtail too, and together, he, the Doctor, and Harry tried to pull the crushing metal fingers from around Wormtail’s throat, but it was no use.

“ _Relashio!”_ The Doctor tried, pointing the wand at the silver hand, but nothing happened; Wormtail dropped to his knees, and at the same moment, Hermione gave a dreadful scream from overhead. Wormtail’s eyes rolled upward in his purple face; he gave a last twitch, and was still.

The Doctor closed his eyes, then looked at Harry and Ron, “Wormtail, what was his real name?”

“Peter Pettigrew.” Harry replied, “Why?” The Doctor didn’t respond. Standing up and pushing his way through the open door and up the stairs, back into the shadowy passageway leading to the drawing room. Cautiously they crept along it until they reached the drawing room door, which was ajar. Now they had a clear view of Bellatrix looking down at the gobin, who was holding Gryffindor’s sword in his long-fingered hands. Hermione was lying at Bellatrix’s feet. She was barely stirring.

“Well?” Bellatrix said to the goblin. “Is it the true sword?”

The Doctor held his breath, praying to whatever deity might be hanging around at the moment that the gobin would lie.

“No,” said the goblin. “It’s a fake.”

“Are you sure?” Panted Bellatrix. “Quite sure?”  
“Yes,” said the goblin.

Relief broke across her face, all tension drained from it.

“Good,” she said, and with a casual flick of her wand she slashed another deep cut into the goblin’s face, and he dropped with a yell at her feet. She kicked him aside. “ANd now,” she said in a voice that burst with triumph, “we call the Dark Lord!”

And she pushed back her sleeve and touched her forefinger to the Dark Mark.

At once, the Doctor saw Harry sliding down the wall, “No, not now,” The Doctor whispered, entering Harry’s mind, pushing the Dark Lord out,

“And I think,” said Bellatrix’s voice, “we can dispose of the Mudblood. Greyback, take her if you want her.”

“NOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

Ron had burst into the drawing room; Bellatrix looked around, shocked; she turned her wand to face Ron instead –

“ _Expelliarmus!”_ he roared, pointing Wormtail’s wand at Bellatrix, and hers flew into the air and was caught by the Doctor, who had sprinted after Ron, Harry on his heels. Lucius, Mrs. Malfoy, Draco, and Greyback wheeled about; the Doctor yelled, “ _Stupify!”_ and Lucius Malfoy collapsed onto the hearth. Jets of light flew from Draco’s, Mrs. Malfoy’s, and Greyback’s wands; the Doctor threw himself to the floor, rolling behind a sofa to avoid them.

“STOP OR SHE DIES!”

The Doctor peered around the edge of the sofa. Bellatrix was supporting Hermione, who seemed to be unconscious, and was holding her short silver knife to Hermione’s throat.

“Drop your wands,” she whispered. “Drop them, or we’ll see exactly how filthy her blood is!”

The Doctor nodded to Harry and Ron, and all three of them dropped all wands they had accumulated.

“Good!” She leered. “Draco, pick them up! The Dark Lord is coming, Harry Potter! Your death approaches!” She cackled, “Now,” she said softly as Draco hurried back to her with the wands, “Cissy, I think we ought to tie these little heroes up again, while Greyback takes care of Miss Mudblood. I am sure the Dark Lord will not begrudge you the girl, Greyback, after what you have done tonight.”

At the last word there was a peculiar grinding noise from above. All of them looked upward in time to see the crystal chandelier tremble; then, with a creak and an ominous jingle, it began to fall. Bellatrix was directly beneath it; dropping Hermione, she threw herself aside with a scream. The Doctor dove forward, pushing Hermione and the goblin (who was still clutching the sword of Gryffindor) out of the way. Glittering shards of crystal flew in all directions: Draco doubled over, his hands covering his bloody face.

Harry took this opportunity to leap over an armchair and wrestle the three wands from Draco’s grip, pointed all of them at Greyback, and yelled, “ _Stupify!”_ The werewolf was lifted off his feet by the triple spell, flew up to the ceiling, and then smashed to the ground. The Doctor grabbed Hermione’s, Dean’s, Ron’s, the blackthorn, as well as his own wand, Sonic Screwdriver, and Psychic Paper from the table they had been left upon.

Mrs. Malfoy dragged Draco out of the way of further harm, Bellatrix sprang to her feet, her hair flying as she brandished the silver knife; but Mrs. Malfoy had directed her wand at the doorway.

“Dobby!” she screamed and even Bellatrix froze. “You! _You_ dropped the chandelier – ?”

The tiny elf trotted into the room, his shaking finger pointing at his old mistress.

“You must not hurt Harry Potter,” he squeaked.

“Kill him, Cissy!” shrieked Bellatrix, but there was another load _crack_ , and Mrs. Malfoy’s and too flew into the air and landed on the other side of the room.

“You dirty little monkey!” bawled Bellatrix. “How dare you take a witch’s wand, how dare you defy your masters?”

“Dobby has no master!” squealed the elf. “Dobby is a free elf, and Dobby has come to save Harry Potter and his friends!”

The Doctor grabbed Harry, who was lisping to one side, his hands on his scar. Grabbing Hermione’s arm as well as Harry, the Doctor felt Ron’s hand touch his wrist and saw him holding the goblin’s hand as Dobby grabbed Harry’s hand and as they spun on the spot to Disapparate, he caught one last view of the drawing room: of the pale frozen figures of Mrs. Malfoy and Draco, of the streak of Red that was Ron’s hair, and a blur of flying silver, as Bellatrix's knife flew across the room at the place where they were vanishing.

As they hit solid earth, the Doctor looked to his left to see Dobby, the silver hilt of the knife protruding from his heaving chest. “Dobby!” The Doctor ran to his side, Harry jumped up as well, “Dobby, can you hear me? I need you to stay awake for me!”

“Dobby – no – HELP!” Harry bellowed toward the cottage, toward the people moving there. “HELP!”

“Dobby, Dobby, eyes open for me. Come on, it’s okay,” The Doctor said as the elf’s eyes slid shut.

“Dobby, no, don’t die, don’t die –” Harry was whispering. The elf’s eyes struggled open, and his lips trembled with the effort to form words.

“Harry…Potter…”

And then with a little shudder the elf became quite still, and his eyes were nothing more than great glassy orbs, sprinkled with light from the stars they could not see.

The Doctor closed his eyes, placing his hands over his face, tears leaking out. It did not matter what information they had gained from this, he had failed.


	21. The Wandmaker

Even after Bill, Fleur, Dean, and Luna came out and helped carry Hermione and the goblin in the cottage, the Doctor sat with Harry, who continued to kneel beside Dobby.

“I’m sorry.” The Doctor whispered, “It was all my fault.”

“No it wasn’t.” Harry said after a moment’s silence,

“I should have protected you.” Harry didn’t say anything. Finally, he looked up,

“Hermione, where is she?”

“Ron’s taken her inside.” The Doctor said, “and Bill’s got the goblin.”

“Griphook.” Harry said quietly. He then looked back down at Dobby. He stretched out a hand and pulled the sharp blade from the elf’s body, then dragged off his own jacket and covered Dobby in it like a blanket.

The sea was rushing against the rock somewhere nearby; the Doctor and Harry listened to it in silence. “Perhaps you should bury him.” Bill approached, Harry nodded,

“Yeah…” He looked up, “I want to do it properly. Not by magic. Have you got a spade?”

The Doctor had offered to help, but Harry had wanted to bury the elf alone, so he retreated inside, watching from a window as Harry dug deeper and deeper into the hard, cold earth.

The Doctor finally joined him when the darkness had lightened a few degrees, joined by Ron and Dean. “How’s Hermione?” Harry asked when the approached.

“Better,” said Ron. “Fleur’s looking after her.”

They jumped down into the hole Harry had made with spades of their own, and together they worked in silence until the hole seemed deep enough.

Harry wrapped the elf more snugly in his jacket. Ron sat on the edge of the grave and stripped off his shoes and socks, which he placed upon the elf’s bare feet. Dean produced a woolen hat, which Harry placed carefully upon Dobby’s head, muffling his batlike ears. The Doctor opened his trenchcoat to an inner pocket and delicately removed a small, preserved flower. It was six-petaled and a beautiful yellow-golden colour. Carefully, he slid it into the lip of Dobby’s new hat.

“What is that?” Harry asked,

“It’s a Flower of Remembrance.” The Doctor said, “I’ve been growing them in the TARDIS for a while, but this is a proper one. One from Gallifrey. My planet. In my culture it was a sign of great respect to bring it to funerals.” Harry gave a grateful smile.

“We should close his eyes.” The others had approached in the dark, Bill was wearing a traveling cloak, Fleur a large white apron, from the pocket of which protruded a bottle of what the Doctor recognized to be Skele-Gro. Hermione was wrapped in a borrowed dressing gown, pale and unsteady on her feet; Ron put an arm around her when she reached him. Luna, who was huddled in one of Fleur’s coats, crouched down and placed her fingers tenderly upon each of the elf’s eyelids, sliding them over his glassy stare.

“There,” she said softly. “Now he could be sleeping.”

Harry placed the elf into the grave, arranged his tiny limbs so that he might have been resting, then climbed out and gazed for the last time upon the little body.

“I think we ought to say something,” piped up Luna. “I’ll go first, shall I?”

And as everybody looked at her, she addressed the dead elf at the bottom of the grave.

“Thank you so much, Dobby, for rescuing me from that cellar. It’s so unfair that you had to die, when you were so good and brave. I’ll always remember what you did for us. I hope you’re happy now.”

She turned and looked expectantly at Ron, who cleared his throat and said in a thick voice, “Yeah…thanks, Dobby.”

“Thanks,” muttered Dean.  
Harry swallowed.

“Good-bye, Dobby,” he said. The Doctor whispered a few respectful words in Gallifreyan. Bill raised her wand, and the pile of earth beside the grave rose up into the air and fell neatly upon it, a small, reddish mound.

“D’you mind if I stay here a moment?” Harry asked the others.

They murmured words of acknowledgement and left Harry on his own.

A while later, everyone except Harry was in the sitting room. Bill was talking.

“…lucky that Ginny’s on holiday. If she’d been at Hogwarts, they could have taken her before we reached her. Now we know she’s safe too.”

He looked around and saw Harry standing in the doorway.

“I’ve been getting them all out of the Burrow,” Bill explained. “Moved them to Muriel’s. The Death Eaters know Ron’s with you now, they’re bound to target the family – don’t apologize,” he added at the sight of Harry’s expression. “It was always a matter of time, Dad’s been saying so for months. We’re the biggest blood-traitor family there is.”

“How are they protected?” asked Harry.

“Fidelius Charm. Dad’s Secret-Keeper. And we’ve done it on this cottage too; I’m Secret Keeper here. None of us can go to work, but that’s hardly the most important thing now. Once Ollivander and Griphool are well enough, we’ll move them to Muriel’s too. There isn’t much room here, but she’s got plenty. Griphook’s legs are on the mend, Fleur’s given him Skele-Gro; we could probably move them in an hour or –”

“No,” Harry said, and Bill looked startled. “I need both of them here. I need to talk to them. It’s important.” There was a pause, Bill nodded. “I’m going to wash,” Harry said, looking down at his bloody and muddy hands. “Then I’ll need to see them, straightaway.”

When Harry returned, he approached Bill and Fleur who were standing at the foot of the stairs. “I need to speak to Griphook and Ollivander,” Harry said.

“No,” said Fleur. “You will ‘ave to wait, ‘Arry. Zey are both ill, tired –”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said without heat, “but it can’t wait. I need to talk to them now. Privately – and separately. It’s urgent.”

“Harry, what the hell’s going on?” asked Bill. “You turn up here with a dead house-elf and a half-conscious goblin, Hermione looks as though she’s been tortured, and Ron’s just refused to tell me anything –”

“We can’t tell you what we’re doing,” said Harry flatly. “You’re in the Order, Bill, you know Dumbledore left us a mission. We’re not supposed to talk about it to anyone else.”

Fleur made an impatient noise, but Bill did not look at her, he was staring at Harry. Finally, he said, “All right. Who do you want to talk to first?”

Harry hesitated, “Griphook,” he said. “I’ll speak to Griphook first.”

“Up here, then,” said Bill, leading the way. The Doctor followed Harry up the stairs, gesturing for Ron and Hermione (who had been lingering, half concealed, in the doorway) to follow. They both moved into the light, looking oddly relieved.

“How are you?” Harry asked Hermione. “You were amazing – coming up with that story when she was hurting you like that –”

Hermione gave a weak smile are Ron gave her a one-armed squeeze.

“What are you doing now, Harry?” he asked.

“You’ll see. Come on.” Harry said.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the Doctor followed Bill up the steep stairs onto a small landing. Three doors led off it.

“In here,” said Bill, opening the door into his and Fleur’s room. It too had a view of the sea, now flecked with gold in the sunrise. The Doctor moved toward the window, Harry stood by the wardrobe. Hermione took the chair beside the dressing table; Ron sat on the arm.

Bill reappeared, carrying the little goblin, whom he set down carefully upon the bed. Griphook grunted thanks, and Bill left, closing the door upon them all.

“I’m sorry to take you out of bed,” said Harry. “How are your legs?”

“Painful,” replied the goblin. “But mending.”

He was still clutching the sword of Gryffindor, and wore a strange look: half truculent, half intrigued. The Doctor noted the goblin’s sallow skin, his long thin fingers, his black eyes. Fleur had removed his shoes: His long feet were dirty. He was larger than a house-elf, but not by much.

“You probably don’t remember –” Harry began.

“– that I was the goblin who showed you to your vault, the first time you ever visited Gringotts?” said Griphook. “I remember, Harry Potter. Even amongst goblins, you are very famous.”

Harry and the goblin looked at each other, sizing each other up. The goblin broke the silence.

“You buried the elf,” he said, sounding unexpectedly rancorous. “I watched you from the window of the bedroom next door.”

“Yes,” said Harry.

Griphook looked at him out of the corners of his slanting black eyes.

“You are an unusual wizard, Harry Potter.”

“In what way?” asked Harry, rubbing his scar absently.  
“You dug the grave.”

“So?”

Griphook did not answer, so Harry said,

“Griphook, I need to ask –”

“You also rescued a goblin.”  
“What?”

“You brought me here. Saved me.”

“Well, I take it you’re not sorry?” said Harry a little impatiently.

“No, Harry Potter,” said Griphook, and with one finger he twisted the thin black beard upon his chin, “but you are a very odd wizard.”

“Right,” said Harry. “Well, I need some help, Griphook, and you can give it to me.”

The goblin made no sign of encouragement, but continued to frown at Harry as though he had never seen anything like him.

“I need to break into a Gringotts vault.”

“Harry –” Hermione said, looking at him as if he were mad, but she was cut off by Griphook.

“Break into a Gringotts vault?” repeated the goblin, wincing a little as he shifted position upon the bed. “It is impossible.”

“No it isn’t,” The Doctor contradicted, “It’s been done.”

“Yeah,” said Harry. “The same day I first met you, Griphook. My birthday, seven years ago.”

“The vault in question was empty at the time,” snapped the goblin defensively. “Its protection was minimal.”

“Well, the vault we need to get into isn’t empty, and I’m guessing its protection will be pretty powerful,” said Harry. “It belongs to the Lestranges.” The Doctor looked at him, what was his plan?

“You have no chance,” said Griphook flatly. “No chance at all. _If you seek beneath our floors, a treasure that was never yours –_ ”

“ _Thief, you have been warned, beware –_ yeah, I know, I remember,” said Harry. “But I’m not trying to get myself any treasure, I’m not trying to take anything for personal gain. Can you believe that?”

The goblin looked slantwise at Harry.

“If there was a wizard of whom I would believe that they did not seek personal gain,” said Griphook finally, “it would be you, Harry Potter. Goblins and elves are not used to the protection or the respect that you have shown this night. Not from wand-carriers.”

“Wand-carriers?” repeated Harry.

“The right to carry wands has been contested over for ages between wizards and goblins,” The Doctor explained quickly.

“Well, goblins can do magic without wands,” said Ron.

“That is immaterial! Wizards refuse to share the secrets of wandlore with other magical beings, they deny us the possibility of extending their powers!”

“See, this is why I don’t like the wizarding world.” The Doctor said, “So predjuse.”

“And who might you be?” Griphook asked,

“I’m the Doctor.” The Doctor said,

“Not your name,” Griphook clarified, “Who are you? You do not speak the typical nonsense of the magical world.”

“Oh, I’m a bit of a traveler, really, no one too important.” Griphook looked unconvinced, but turned back to Harry,

“Anyway,” Harry said, “it doesn’t matter, this isn’t about wizards versus goblins or any other sort of magical creature –”

Griphook gave a nasty laugh.

“But it  is, it is about precisely that! As the Dark Lord becomes ever more powerful, your race is set still more firmly above mine! Gringotts falls under Wizarding rule, house-elves are slaughtered, and who amongst the wand-carries protests.”

“We do!” said Hermione. She had sat up straight, her eyes bright. “We protest! I’m hunted quite as much as any goblin or elf, Griphook! I’m a Mudblood!”

“Don’t call yourself –” Ron muttered.

“Why shouldn’t I?” said Hermione. “Mudblood, and proud of it! I’ve got no higher position under this new order than you have, Griphook! It was me they chose to torture, back at the Malfoys’!”

As she spoke, she pulled aside the neck of the dressing gown to reveal the thin cut Bellatrix had made, scarlet against her throat. The Doctor winced, it should have been him.

“Did you know it was Harry who set Dobby free?” she asked. “Did you know that we’ve wanted elves to be freed for years? You can’t want You-Know-Who defeated more than we do, Griphook!”

The goblin gazed at Hermione with the same curiosity he had shown Harry and the Doctor.

“What do you seek within the Lestranges’ vault?” he asked abruptly. “The sword that lies inside it is a fake. This is the real one.” He looked from one to the other of them. “I think that you already know this. You asked me to lie for you back there.”

“But the fake sword isn’t the only thing in the vault, is it?” asked Harry. “Perhaps you’ve seen the other things in there?” The goblin twisted his beard around his finger again.

“It is against our code to speak of the secrets of Gringotts. We are the guardians of fabulous treasures. We have a duty to the objects placed in our care, which were, so often, wrought by our fingers.”

The goblin stroked the sword, and his black eyes roved from Harry to Hermione to Ron to the Doctor and then back again.

“So young,” he said finally, “to be fighting so many.” The Doctor decided not to comment.

“Will you help us?” said Harry. “We haven’t got a hope of breaking in without a goblin’s help. You’re our one chance.”

“I shall…think about it,” said Griphook maddeningly.

“But –” Ron started angrily, but Hermione nudged him in the ribs.

“Thank you.” The Doctor said,

“Thanks.” Harry agreed.

The goblin bowed his great domed head in acknowledgement, then flexed his short legs.

“I think,” he said, settling himself ostentatiously upon Bill and Fleur’s bed, “that the Skele-Gro has finished its work. I may be able to sleep at last. Forgive me…”

“Of course.” The Doctor said, making his way to the other side of the room where the door was. Harry, Ron, and Hermione followed, grabbing the sword of Gryffindor on their way out.

“Little git,” whispered Ron. “He’s enjoying keeping us hanging.”

“So,” the Doctor said, ignoring Ron’s comment, “You think there’s a Horcrux in the Lestranges’ vault?”

“Yes,” said Harry. “Bellatrix was terrified when she thought we’d been in there, she was beside herself. Why? What did she think we’d seen, what else did she think we might have taken? Something she was petrified You-Know-Who would find out about.” The Doctor nodded,

“I think Griphook will help…” The Doctor said, “But goblins always do things for a price.”

There was a moment of silence.

“Right, Ollivander now.” Harry said.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the Doctor made their way across the little landing and knocked upon the door opposite Bill and Fleur’s. A weak “Come in!” answered them.

The wandmaker was lying on the twin bed farthest from the window. He had been held in the cellar for more than a year, and tortured, the Doctor knew, on at least one occasion. Je was emaciated, the bones of his face sticking out sharply against the yellowish skin. His great silver eyes seemed vast in their sunken sockets. The hands that lay upon the blanket were skeletal. The Doctor sat down upon the empty bed beside Harry, Ron, and Hermione. The rising sun was not visible here. The room faced the cliff-top garden and the freshly dug grave.

“Me. Ollivander, I’m sorry to disturb you,” Harry said.

“My dear boy.” Ollivander’s voice was feeble. “You rescued us. I thought we would die in that place. I can never thank you… _never_ …thank you…enough.”

“We were glad to do it.” The Doctor smiled.

“Mr. Ollivander, I need some help.” Harry said.

“Anything. Anything,” said the wandmaker weakly.

“Can you mend this? Is it possible?” Harry placed his broken wand into Ollivander’s trembling palm.

“Holly and phoenix feather,” said Ollivander in a tremulous voice. “Eleven inches. Nice and supple.”

“Yes,” said Harry. “Can you – ?”  
“No,” whispered Ollivander. “I am sorry, very sorry, but a wand that has suffered this degree of damage cannot be repaired by any means that I know of.”

Harry looked down, retracting the wand halves from the man’s hands. The Doctor removed the two wands they had taken from the Malfoys’ from his endless pockets.

“Can you identify these?”

The wandmaker took the first of the wands and held it close to his faded eyes, rolling it between his knobble-knuckled fingers, flexing it slightly.

“Walnut and dragon heartstring,” he said. “Twelve-and-three-quarter inches. Unyielding. This wand belonged to Bellatrix Lestrange.”

“And this one?”

Ollivander performed the same examination.

“Hawthorn and unicorn hair. Ten inches precisely. Reasonably springy. This was the wand of Draco Malfoy.”

“Was?” Repeated the Doctor and Harry simultaneously,

“Isn’t it still his?” Harry asked,

“Perhaps not. If you took it –”

“– I did –”

“– then it may be yours. Of course, the manner of taking matters. Much also depends upon the wand itself. In general, however, where a wand has been won, its allegiance will change.”  
There was a silence in the room, except for the distant rushing of the sea.

“You talk about wands like they’ve got feelings,” said Harry, “like they can think for themselves.”

“The wand chooses the wizard,” said Ollivander. “That much has always been clear to those of us who have studied wandlore.”

“A person can still use a wand that hasn’t chose them, though?” asked Harry.  
“Oh yes, if you are any wizard at all you will be able to channel your magic through almost any instrument. The best results, however, must always come where there is the strongest affinity between wizard and wand. These connections are complex. An initial attraction, and then a mutual quest for experienced, the wand learning from the wizard, the wizard from the wand.

The sea gushed forward and backward; it was a mournful sound.

“I took this wand from Draco Malfoy by force,” said Harry. “Can I use it safely?”

“I think so.” Subtle laws govern wand ownership, but the conquered wand will usually bend its will to its new master.”

“And this holds true for all wands, does it?” asked Harry.

“I think so,” replied Ollivander, his protuberant eyes upon Harry’s face. “You ask deep questions, Mr. Potter. Wandlore is a complex and mysterious branch of magic.”

“So, it isn’t necessary to kill the previous owner to take true possession of a wand?” asked Harry.

Ollivander swallowed.

“Necessary? No, I should not say that is is necessary to kill.”

“There are legends, though,” said Harry. “Legends about a wand that has passed from hand to hand by murder.”

Ollivander turned pale. Against the snowy pillow he was light gray, and his eyes were enormous, bloodshot, and bulging with what looked like fear.

“Only one wand, I think,” he whispered.

“And You-Know-Who is interested in it, isn’t he?” asked Harry.

“I – how?” croaked Ollivander, and he looked appealingly at Ron, Hermione, and the Doctor for help. “How do you know this?”

“He wanted you to tell him how to overcome the connection between our wands,” Harry pressed on, looking straight into Ollivander’s terrified face.

“He tortured me, you must understand that!” Ollivander finally said, “The Cruciatus Curse, I – I had no choice but to tell him what I knew, what I guessed!”  
“I understand,” said Harry. “You told him about the twin cores? You said he just had to borrow another wizard’s wand?”

Ollivander looked horrified, transfixed, by the amount that Harry knew. He nodded slowly.

“But it didn’t work,” Harry went on. “Mine still beat the borrowed wand. Do you know why that is?”

Ollivander shook his head slowly as he had just nodded.

“I had…never heard of such a thing. Your wand performed something unique that night. The connection of the twin cores is incredibly rare, yet why your wand should have snapped the borrowed wand, I do not know…”

“We were talking about the other wand, the wand that changes hands by murder. When You-Know-Who realized my wand had done something strange, he came back and asked about that other wand, didn’t he?”

“How do you know this?”  
Harry did not answer.

“Yes, he asked,” whispered Ollivander. “He wanted to know everything I could tell him about the wand variously known as the Deathstick, the Wand of Destiny, or the Elder Wand.”

The Doctor saw Harry glance sideways at Hermione. She looked flabbergasted.

“The Dark Lord,” continued Ollivander in hushed and frightened tones, “had always been happy with the wand I made him – yew and phoenix feather, thirteen-and-a-half inches – until he discovered the connection of the twin cores. Now he seeks another, more powerful wand, as the only way to conquer yours.”

“But he’ll know soon, if he doesn’t already, that mine’s broken beyond repair.”

“The Dark Lord no longer seeks the Elder Wand only for your destruction, Mr. Potter.” Ollivander said, “He is determined to possess it because he believes it will make him truly invulnerable.”

“And will it?”

“The owner of the Elder Wand must always fear attack,” said Ollivander, “but the idea of the Dark Lord in possession of the Deathstick is, I must admit…formidable.”

“You – you really think this wand exists, then, Mr. Ollivander?” asked Hermione.

“Oh yes,” said Ollivander. “Yes, it is perfectly possible to trace the wand’s course through history. There are gaps, of course, and long ones, where it vanishes from view, temporarily lost or hidden; but always it resurfaces. It has certain identifying characteristics that those who are learned in wandlore recognize. There are written accounts, some of them obscure, that I and other wandmakers have made it our business to study. They have the ring of authenticity.”

“So you – you don’t think it can be a fairy tale or a myth?” Hermione asked hopefully.

“No,” said Ollivander. “Whether it _needs_ to pass by murder, I do not know. Its history is bloody, but that may be simply due to the fact that it is such a desirable object, and arouses such passions in wizards. Immensely powerful, dangerous things in the wrong hands, and an object of incredible fascination to all of us who study the power of wands.”

“Mr. Ollivander,” said Harry, “you told You-Know-Who that Gregorovitch had the Elder Wand, didn’t you?”

Ollivander turned, if possible, even paler. He looked ghostly as he gulped.

“But how – how do you – ?”

“Never mind how I know it,” said Harry, closing his eyes momentarily. “You told You-Know-Who that Gregorovitch had the wand?”

“It was a rumor,” whispered Ollivander. “A rumor, years and years ago, long before you were born! I believe Gregorovitch himself started it. You can see how good i would be for business: that he was studying and duplicating the qualities of the Elder Wand!”

“Yes, I can see that,” said Harry. He stood up. “Mr. Ollivander, one last thing, and then we’ll let you get some rest. What do you know about the Deathly Hallows?”

“The – the what?” asked the wandmaker, looking utterly bewildered.

“The Deathly Hallows.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about. Is this still something to do with wands?”

The Doctor looked into the sunken face and believed that Ollivander was not acting. He did not know about the Hallows. In looking at Harry, he could tell that Harry believed Ollivander as well.

“Thank you,” said Harry/ “Thank you very much. We’ll leave you to get some rest now.”

Ollivander looked stricken.

“He was torturing me!” he gasped. “The Cruciatus Curse…you have no idea…”

“I do,” said Harry. “I really do. Please get some rest. Thank you for telling me all of this.”

Harry led Ron, Hermione, and the Doctor down the staircase. They caught a glimpse of Bill, Fleur, Luna, and Dean sitting at the table in the kitchen, cups of tea in front of them. They looked up at the four of them as they appeared in the doorway, but Harry merely nodded to them and continued into the garden, Ron, Hermione, and the Doctor behind him. The reddish mound of earth that covered Dobby lay ahead, and they walked back to it.

“Gregorovitch had the Elder Wand a long time ago,” Harry said. “I saw You-Know-Who trying to find him. When he tracked him down, he found that Gregorovitch didn’t have it anymore; It was stolen from him by Grindelwald. How Grindelwald found out that Gregorovitch had it, I don’t know – but if Gregorovitch was stupid enough to spread the rumor, it can’t have been that difficult. And Grindelwald used the Elder Wand to become powerful. And at the height of his power, when Dumbledore knew he was the only one who could stop him, he dueled Grindelwald and beat him, and he took the Elder Wand.”

“ _Dumbledore_ had the Elder Wand?” said Ron. “But then – where is it now?”  
“At Hogwarts,” said Harry, he was swaying slightly, which was concerning.

“But then, let’s go!” said Ron urgently. “Harry, let’s go and get it before he does!”

“It’s too late for that,” said Harry. His hands shot to his scar.

“Harry!” The Doctor ran to his side, his fingers jumping to Harry’s temple and delving into his mind.

Everything was cool and dark: The sun was barely visible over the horizon as Voldemort gilded alongside Snape, up through the grounds of Hogwarts towards the lake.

“I shall join you in the castle shortly,” Voldemort said in his high, cold voice. “Leave me now.”

Snape bowed his head and set off back up the path, his black cloak billowing behind him. Voldemort walked slowly, waiting for Snape’s figure to disappear. Clearly it would not do for Snape, or indeed anyone else, to see where he was going. But there were no lights in the castle windows, and Voldemort could conceal himself…and in a second he had cast upon himself a Disillusionment Charm that hid him.

Voldemort walked on, around the edge of the lake, taking in the outside lines of the beloved castle. The Doctor was aware it had been his first kingdom, his home.

And here it was, beside the lake, reflected in the dark waters. The marble tomb. Voldemort raised the old yew wand, and the tomb split open from head to foot. Voldemort raised his wand again, and the wrappings of the dead man fell open. The face was translucent, pale, sunken, yet almost perfectly preserved. Spectacles had remained upon the dead man’s crooked nose. The man’s hands were folded upon his chest, and there it lay, clutched beneath them, buried with him. The Elder Wand.


	22. Shell Cottage

Bill and Fleur’s cottage stood alone on a cliff overlooking the sea, its walls embedded with shells and whitewashed. It was a lonely and beautiful place. The Doctor noticed Harry making excuses to escape to the cliff-top for a view of the open sky and wide, empty sea.

The Doctor could tell that Harry was beginning to regret his decision not to race Voldemort to the Hallows, and Ron wasn’t helping.

“What if Dumbledore wanted us to work out the symbol meant made you ‘worthy’ to get the Hallows?” He would ask, “If that really is the Elder Wand, how the hell are we supposed to finish off You-Know-Who?”  
The Doctor had no answers.

Hermione, on the other hand, was on the opposite end. Now forced to accept that the Elder Wand was real, she maintained that it was an evil object, and that the way Voldemort had taken possession of it was repellent, not to be considered.  
“Objects themselves aren’t evil,” The Doctor argued, “The way people use them can be, but not the object themselves.”   
Three days after their arrival at the cottage, Ron finally asked, “Do you really think he’s dead, though? Dumbledore?”

“Yes, he is, Ron, _please_ don’t start that again!” Hermione said,

“Look at the facts,” said Ron, more to Harry and the Doctor than to Hermione, “The silver doe. The sword. The eye Harry saw in the mirror –”

“I thought you said Dumbledore’s Patronus was a phoenix?” The Doctor looked at Harry,

“It was.”

“Patronuses can change, though.” Ron pointed out,

“It’s unusual.” The Doctor said,

“Fine, but what about the sword, and the mirror –”  
“Harry admits he could have imagined the eye! Don’t you Harry?” Hermione said,

“I could have,” said Herry,

“But you don’t think you did, do you?” asked Ron.

“No, I don’t.” said Harry.

“There you go!” said Ron quickly before Hermione could carry on. “If it wasn’t Dumbledore, explain how Dobby knew we were in the cellar, Hermione?”

“I can’t – but can you explain how Dumbledore sent him to us if he’s lying in a tomb at Hogwarts?”

“I dunno, it could’ve been his ghost!”

“Dumbledore wouldn’t come back as a ghost,” said Harry confidently. “He would have gone on.”

“What d’you mean, ‘gone on’?” asked Ron,

“Ron, very few witches and wizards choose to become ghosts. You would live forever, watching everyone you love die before your very eyes without any means of stopping it. You would be truly alone, and it would be agony.”

“You say this like you know…” Ron said, though never finished his sentence. He didn’t have to.

“I have lived a very long time, Ron. Long enough to know that a longer life isn’t always a better one.”   
But before anyone could respond, a voice behind them said, “‘Arry?”

Fleur had come out of the cottage, her long silver hair flying in the breeze.

“‘Arry, Grip’ook would like to speak to you. ‘E eez in ze smallest bedroom, ‘e says ‘e does not want to be over’eard.”

Griphook was waiting for them, as Fleur had said, in the tiniest of the cottage’s three bedrooms, in which Hermione and Luna slept by night He had drawn the red cotton curtains against the bright, cloudy sky, which gave the room a fiery glow at odds with the rest of the airy, light cottage.”

“I have reached my decision, Harry Potter,” said the goblin, who was sitting cross-legged in a low chair, drumming its arms with his spindly fingers. “Though the goblins of Gringotts will consider it base treachery, I have decided to help you.”

The Doctor looked at him, “And the price?”

“Ah, yes, you pick up quickly.” Griphook smiled, “For payment, I want the sword. The sword of Godric Gryffindor.”

“You can’t have that,” Harry said immediately, “I’m sorry, I have gold though,”

“I have no need for gold.” Griphook said, “I want the sword.”  
“The sword’s ours –” Ron started,  
“No it’s not.” The Doctor said, the whole room turned to look at him,

“But we’re Gryffindors,” Ron said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, “and it was Godric Gryffindor’s –”

“And before it was Gryffindor’s, whose do you think it was?” The Doctor asked, growing tired of wizarding arrogance,

“No one’s,” said Ron. “It was made for him, wasn’t it?”

“No!” cried Griphook, bristling with anger, “Wizarding arrogance again! That sword was Ragnuk the First’s, taken from him by Godric Gryffindor! IT is a lost treasure, a masterpiece of goblinwork! It belongs with the goblins! The sword is the price of my hire, take it or leave it!”

Griphook glared at Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Harry glanced at Ron, Hermione, and the Doctor, “We need to discuss this, Griphook, if that’s all right. Could you give us a few minutes?”   
The goblin nodded, looking sour. As the four of them exited the room, the Doctor locked eyes with Griphook and said, “You will get your sword.”

Downstairs in the empty sitting room, Ron said, “He’s having a laugh. We can’t let him have the sword.”

“Why not?” The Doctor asked, Ron looked at him as if he were insane,

“We, we need it, don’t we?”

“Doctor,” Harry said, “Is it true? Was the sword really stolen by Gryffindor.”

“Yes,” The Doctor said, “It was made a thousand years ago by Ragnuk the First, who was the finest goblin silversmith there was, and therefore king. The sword was made to Godric Gryffindor’s specifications, but goblin purchasing systems work differently than human ones do. Goblins believe that anything created by them belongs to the maker, not the purchaser. If you purchase a goblin-made item, it is more like a lifetime lease. But once you die, it is expected that your heirs return the item to the rightful owner. Because wizards purchased the sword _from_ the goblins, they are supposed to abide by the goblins’ system rather than assume their own by default.”

“Doctor,” said Ron, “Sometimes I get the feeling that you don’t like wizards…”

“I don’t dislike them, but I’d much prefer Muggles.” The Doctor admitted, “See, wizards look down on Muggles, they believe they are inferior. They spend too much time worrying about blood-status and all that rubbish. You’re all human, and I like humans, so I do like wizards, but that doesn’t mean I think you’re in the right."  
“Goblins have got a good reason to dislike wizards,” Hermione agreed. “They’ve been treated brutally in the past.”

“But it’s not like goblins are exactly fluffy little bunnies, though, are they?” said Ron. “They’ve killed plenty of us. They’ve fought dirty too.”

“But arguing with Griphook about whose race is the most underhanded and violent isn’t going to make him more likely to help us, is it?” said Hermione.

There was a pause. “I say we give him the sword.” The Doctor said.

“What if,” Ron said, “What if we tell Griphook we need the sword until we get inside the vault, and then he can have it. There’s a fake in there, isn’t there? We switch them, and give him the fake.”

“Ron, he’d know the difference better than we would!” said Hermine. “He’s the only one who realized there had been a swap!”

“Yeah, but we could scarper before he realises –”

“And this is why goblins don’t trust wizards.” The Doctor said firmly. Ron looked down, his ears had turned red.

“All right, all right! It was the only thing I could think of! What’s your solution, then?”

“We need to offer him something else, something just as valuable.” Hermione said thoughtfully.

“Brilliant.” Harry said, “I’ll go and get one of our other ancient goblin-made swords and you can gift wrap it.”

Silence fell between the again. “We should give him the sword.” The Doctor repeated, breaking the silence.

“We’ll tell him he can have the sword after he’s helped us get into that vault,” Harry said confidently, “but we’ll be careful to avoid telling him exactly _when_ he can have it.”

A grin spread slowly across Ron’s face. Hermione, however, looked alarmed.

“Harry, we can’t –”

“He can have it,” Harry went on, “after we’ve used it on all of the Horcruxes. I’ll make sure he gets it then. I’ll keep my word.”  
“But that could be years!” said Hermione.

“I know that, but _he_ needn’t. I won’t be lying…really.”

“No.” The Doctor said firmly, “We’ll tell him that we’ll need the sword when we get in there, but once we do that, he can have it.”

“But what about the other Horcruxes?” Hermione asked,  
“We’ll figure it out when we get there, but we are not stooping that low.” The Doctor dramatically turned on his heel and gestured for them to follow him to Griphook.

Back in the smallest bedroom, the Doctor made the offer. “I have your word, Doctor, that you will give me the sword of Gryffindor if I help you?”

“Yes.” Said the Doctor.

“Then shake,” said the goblin, holding out his hand.

The Doctor took it and shook. Then Griphook relinquished him, clapped his hands together, and said, “So. We begin!”

It was like planning to break into the Ministry all over again. They settled to work in the smallest bedroom, which was kept, according to Griphook’s preference, in the semi-darkness. To be perfectly honest, the Doctor wasn’t much of a fan of prepared plans, he much prefered to make it as he went, but Harry, Ron, and Hermione were determined to have a plan, so he agreed help create one.

“I have visited the Lestranges’ vault only once,” Griphook told them, “on the occasion I was told to place inside it the false sword. It is one of the most ancient chambers. The oldest WIzarding families store their treasures at the deepest level, where the vaults are largest and best protected…”

They remained shut in the cupboard-like room for hours at a time. Slowly the days stretched into weeks and the Doctor was becoming restless. There was problem after problem to overcome, not least of which was that their store of Polyjuice Potion was greatly depleted.

“There’s really only enough left for one of us,” said Hermione, tilting the thick mud-like potion against the lamplight.

“That’ll be enough,” said the Doctor.

The other inhabitants of Shell Cottage could hardly fail to notice that something was going on now that Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the Doctor only emerged for mealtimes. Nobody asked questions, although the Doctor noticed Bill’s eyes on Harry, his face looking thoughtful and concerned.

There was a bang on the front door. Everyone’s head turned toward it. Fleur came running out of the kitchen, looking frightened; Bill jumped to his feet, his wand pointing at the door; Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the Doctor did the same (though the Doctor did not pull out his wand). Silently, Griphook slipped beneath the table, out of sight.

“Who is it?” Bill called.

“It is I, Remus John Lupin!” called a voice over the howling wind. “I am a werewolf, married to Nymphadora Tonks, and you, the Secret Keeper of Shell Cottage, told me the address and bade me come in an emergency!”

“Lupin,” muttered Bill, and he ran to the door and wrenched it open.

Lupin fell over the threshold. He was white-faced, wrapped in a traveling cloak, his graying hair windswept. He straightened up, looked around the room, making sure of who was there, then cried aloud, “It’s a boy! We’ve named him Ted, after Dora’s father!”

Hermione shrieked.

“Wha – ? Tonks – Tonks has had the baby?”  
“Yes, yes, she’s had the baby!” shouted Lupin. All around the table came cries of delight, sighs of relief: Hermione and Fleur both squealed, “Congratulations!” and Ron said, “Blimey, a baby!” as if he had never heard of such a thing before.

“Yes – yes – a boy,” said Lupin again, who seemed dazed by his own happiness. He strode around the table and hugged Harry.

“You’ll be godfather?” he said as he released Harry.

“M-me?” stammered Harry.

“You, yes, of course – Dora quite agrees, no one better –”

“I – yeah – blimey –”

“I can’t stay long, I must get back,” said Lupin, beaming around at them all: He looked years younger than the Doctor had last seen him. “Thank you, thank you, Bill.”

Bill had soon filled all their goblets, they stood and raised them high in a toast.

“To Teddy Remus Lupin,” said Lupin, “a great wizard in the making!”

“‘Oo does ‘e look like?” Fleur inquired.

“I think he looks like Dora, but she thinks he is like me. Not much hair. It looked black when he was born, but I swear it’s turned ginger in the hour since. Probably be blond by the time I get back. Andromeda says Tonks’s hair started changing colour the day that she was born.” He drained his goblet. “Oh go on then, just one more,” he added, beaming, as Bill made to fill it again.

The wind buffeted the little cottage and the fire leapt and crackled, and Bill was soon opening another bottle of wine. Lupin’s news seemed to have taken them out of themselves, removed them for awhile from their state of siege: Tidings of new life were exhilarating. Only the goblin seemed untouched by the sudden festive atmosphere, and after a while he slunk back to the bedroom he now occupied alone. The Doctor saw Bill catch Harry’s eye, as Harry had also watched Griphook slunk away.

“No…no…I really must get back,” said Lupin at last, declining yet another goblet of wine. He got to his feet and pulled his traveling cloak back around himself. “Good-bye, good-bye – I’ll try and bring some pictures in a few days’ time – they’ll all be so glad to know that I’ve seen you –”

He fastened his cloak and made his farewells, hugging the woman and grasping hands with the men, then, still beaming, returned into the wild night.

“Godfather, Harry!” said Bill as they walked into the kitchen together, helping clear the table. “A real honor! Congratulations!”

The Doctor noticed Bill pull Harry into the other room. As he moved closer to the door, he could hear their conversation.

“…you’re plannings something with Griphook.” Bill was saying, “I know goblins, I’ve worked for Gringotts ever since I left Hogwarts. As far as there can be friendship between wizards and goblins, I have goblin friends – or, at least, goblins I know well, and like.” Bill hesitated. “Harry, what do you want from Griphook, and what have you promised him in return?”

“I can’t tell you that,” said Harry. “Sorry, Bill.”

“Then I have to say this,” Bill went on. “If you have struck any kind of bargain with Griphook, and most particularly if that bargain involves treasure, you must be exceptionally careful. Goblin notions of ownership, payment, and repayment are not the same as human ones.”

“I know,” said Harry.

“How?”

“The Doctor…”

“Harry, who is the Doctor, really? I know he’s your protector, but really, who is he?” The Doctor held his breath,

“I don’t think those are my secrets to tell.” Harry said.

There was a tense moment of silence.

“All I’m saying,” said Bill, “is to be very careful what you promise goblins, Harry. It would be less dangerous to break into Gringotts than to renege on a promise to a goblin.”

The Doctor nearly laughed, moving away from the door and busying himself as the door swung open. “…Right,” Harry was saying, “Yeah. Thanks. I’ll bear that in mind.” Bill nodded,

“I hope you do.”


	23. Gringotts

The plans were made, their preparations complete; in the smallest bedroom a single long, coarse black hair (plucked from the sweater Hermione had been wearing at Malfoy Manor) lay curled in a small glass phial on the mantelpiece.

“And you’ll be using her actual wand,” said Harry, nodding toward the walnut wand, “so I reckon you’ll be pretty convincing.”

Hermione looked frightened that the wand might sting or bite her as she picked it up.

“I hat this thing,” she said in a low voice. “I really hate it. It feels all wrong, it doesn’t work properly for me…It’s like a bit of  _ her _ .” 

“It’ll probably help you get in character, though,” Ron said, trying to be helpful,

“But that’s not my point!” said Hermione. “This is the wand that tortured Neville’s mum and dad –”

“What?” The Doctor interrupted,

“Our friend Neville,” Hermione explained, “He lives with his grandmother, his parents were tortured by Bellatrix to the point of insanity.”

Suddenly, the door to the bedroom opened and Griphook entered. “We’ve just been checking the last-minute stuff, Griphook.” Harry said, “We’ve told Bill and Fleur we’re leaving tomorrow, and we’ve told them not to get up and see us off.”

They had been firm on this point, because Hermione would need to transform into Bellatrix before they left, and the less that Bill and Fleur knew or suspected about what they were about to do, the better. They had explained that they would not be returning. As they had lost Perkins’s old tent on the night that the Snatchers caught them, Bill had lent them another one. It was now packed inside the beaded bag, which, the Doctor was rather impressed to learn, Hermione had protected from the Snatchers by the simple expedient of stuffing it down her sock.

When six o’clock arrived, Harry, Ron, Hermione, the Doctor, and Griphook made their way out of the house. The dawn was chilly, but there was little wind now that it was May. The stars were still glimmering palely in the dark sy and the sea was washing backward and forward against the cliff.

Small green shoots were forcing their way up through the red earth of Dobby’s grave now; in a year’s time the mound would be covered in flowers. The white stone that bore the elf’s name had already acquired a weathered look. The sound of a door opening made the Doctor look around.

Bellatrix Lestrange was striding across the lawn toward them, accompanied by Griphook. As she walked, she was tucking the small, beaded bag into the inside pocket with another set of the old robes they had taken from Grimmauld Place.

“She tasted  _ disgusting _ ,” Hermione said through the low voice of Bellatrix, “worse than Gurdyroots! Okay, Ron, come here so I can do you…”

“Right, but remember, I don’t like the beard too long –”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, this isn’t about looking handsome –”

“It’s not that, it gets in the way! But I liked my nose a bit shorter, try and do it the way you did last time.”  
Hermione sighed and set to work, muttering under her breath as she transformed various aspects of Ron’s appearance. He was to be given a completely fake identity, and they were trusting to the malevolent aura cast by Bellatrix to protect him. Meanwhile, Harry and Griphook were to be concealed under the Invisibility Cloak, while the Doctor managed to find a perception filter in one of his pockets to keep himself hidden.

“There,” said Hermione, “How does he look, Harry?”

It was just possible to discern Ron under his disguise, but it wasn’t easy. Ron’s hair was now long and wavy; he had a thick brown beard and mustache, no freckles, a short, broad nose, and heavy eyebrows.

“Well, he’s not my type, but he’ll do,” said Harry. “Shall we go, then?”

“Allons-y!” The Doctor grinned.

All three of them glanced back at Shell Cottage, lying dark and silent under the fading stars, then turned and began to walk toward the point, just beyond the boundary wall, where the Fidelius Charm stopped working and they would be able to Disapparate. Once past the gate, Griphook spoke.

“I should climb up now, Harry Potter, I think?”

Harry bent down and the goblin clambered onto his back, his hands linked in front of Harry’s throat. Hermione pulled the Invisibility Cloak out of the beaded bag and threw it over them both.

“Perfect,” she said, bending down to check Harry’s feet. “I can’t see a thing. Let’s go.”

The Doctor turned on the spot, holding onto Hermione, Ron, and Harry with Griphook on his shoulders. They moved into the compressing darkness, and seconds later the Doctor’s feet found pavement and he opened his eyes on Charing Cross Road. 

The bar of the Leaky Cauldron was nearly deserted. Tom, the stooped and toothless landlord, was polishing glasses behind the counter; a couple of warlocks having a muttered conversations in the far corner glanced at Hermione and drew back into the shadows.

“Madame Lestrange,” murmured Tom, and as Hermione passed, he inclined his head subserviently.

“Good morning,” said Hermione, the Doctor saw Tom look surprised. 

“Too polite,” The Doctor heard Harry whisper in Hermione’s ear as he passed invisibly, “You need to treat people like they’re scum!”

“Okay, okay!” Hermione hissed, drawing out Bellatrix’s wand and tapping a brick in the nondescript wall in front of them. At once, the bricks began to whirl and spin: A hole appeared in the middle of them, which grew wider and wider, finally forming an archway onto the narrow cobbled street that was Diagon Alley.

It was quiet, barely time for the shops to open, and there were hardly any shoppers abroad. Many shops were boarded up and there were quite a few shops dedicated to the Dark Arts. All along the street there were posters of Harry captioned with the words UNDESIRABLE NUMBER ONE.

A number of ragged people sat huddled in doorways. The Doctor heard them moaning to the few passersby, pleading for gold, insisting that they were really wizards. One man had a bloody bandage over his eye. As much as the Doctor wanted to help them, he knew that if he did, he’d blow their cover, and they couldn’t afford that. 

As they set off along the street, the beggars glimpsed Hermione. They seemed to melt away before her, drawing hoods over their faces and fleeing as fast as they could. Hermione looked after them curiously, until the man with the bloodied bandage came staggering right across her path.

“My children!” he bellowed, pointing at her. His voice was cracked, high-pitched; he sounded distraught. “Where are my children! What has been done with them? You know,  _ you know _ !”

“I – I really –” stammered Hermione.

The man lunged at her, reaching for her throat: Then, with a bang and a burst of red light he was thrown backward onto the ground, unconscious. Ron stood there, his wand still outstretched and a look of shock visible behind his beard. Faces appeared at the windows on either side of the street, while a little knot of prosperous-looking passersby gathered their robes about them and broke into gentle trots, keen to vacate the scene.

Their entrance into Diagon Alley could hardly have been more conspicuous, and suddenly, before any one of them could move, they heard a cry from behind them.  
“Why, Madam Lestrange!”

The Doctor whirled around and saw a tall, thin wizard with a crown of bushy gray hair and long, sharp nose striding toward them.

“It’s Travers,” the Doctor heard Griphook hiss in Harry’s ear. Hermione had drawn herself up to her fullest height and said with as much contempt as she could muster:

“What do you want?”

Travers stopped in his tracks, clearly affronted.

“ _ He’s another Death Eater!”  _ Griphook breathed, the Doctor quietly repeated it to Hermione’s ear.

“I merely sought to greet you,” said Travers cooly, “but if my presence is not welcome…”

The Doctor recognized him as one of the Death Eaters who had been summoned to Xenophilius’s house. The Doctor already felt anger run through him. 

“No, no, not at all, Travers,” said Hermione quickly, trying to cover up her mistake. “How are you?”

“Well, I confess I am surprised to see you out and about, Bellatrix.”

“Really? Why?” asked Hermione.

“Well,” Travers coughed, “I  _ heard _ that the inhabitants of Malfoy Manor were confined to the house, after the…ah… _ escape _ .”

“The Dark Lord forgives those who have served him most faithfully in the past,” said Hermione in a magnificent imitation of Bellatrix’s most contemptuous manner. “Perhaps your credit is not as good with him as mine is, Travers.”

Though the Death Eater looked offended, he also seemed less suspicious. He glanced down at the man Ron had just Stunned.

“How did it offend you?”

“It does not matter, it will not do so again,” said Hermione cooly.

“Some of these wandless can be troublesome,” said Travers. “While they do nothing but beg I have no objection, but one of them actually asked me to plead her case at the Ministry last week. ‘ _ I’m a witch, sir, I’m a witch, let me prove it to you!’” _ he said in a squeaky impersonation. “As if I was going to give her my wand – but whose wand,” said Travers curiously, “are you using at moment, Bellatrix? I heard that your own was –”

“I have my wand here,” said Hermione coldly, holding up Bellatrix’s wand. “I don’t know what rumors you have been listening to, Travers, but you seem sadly misinformed.”

Travers seemed a little taken aback at that, and he turned instead to Ron.

“Who is your friend? I do not recognize him.”

“This is Dragomir Despard,” said Hermione; they had decided that a fictional foreigner was the safest cover for Ron to assume. “He speaks very little English, but he is in sympathy with the Dark Lord’s aims. He has traveled here from Transylvania to see our new regime.”

“Indeed? How do you do, Dragomir?”

“‘Ow you?” said Ron, holding out his hand.

Travers extended two fingers and shook Ron’s hand as though frightened of dirting himself.

“So what brings you and your – ah – sympathetic friend to Diagon Alley this early?” asked Travers.

“I need to visit Gringotts,” said Hermione.

“Alas, I also,” said Travers. “Gold, filthy gold! We cannot live without it, yet I confess I deplore the necessity of consorting with our long-fingered friends.” Travers gestured Hermione forward, “Shall we?”

Hermione had no choice but to fall into step beside him and head along the crooked, cobbled street toward the place where the snowy-white Gringotts stood towering over the other little shops. Ron sloped along beside them, and the Doctor followed.

All too soon they arrived at the foot of the marble steps leading up to the great bronze doors. As Griphook had already warned them, the liveried goblins who usually flanked the entrance had been replaced by two wizards, both of whom were clutching long thin golden rods.

“Ah, Probity Probes,” said Travers theatrically, “so crude – but effective!”

And he set off up the steps, nodding left and right to the wizards, who raised the golden rods and passed them up and down his body. The Probes, the Doctor knew, detected spells of concealment and hidden magical objects. The Doctor heard Harry whisper, “ _ Confundo _ ” twice, unnoticed by Travers, who was looking through the bronze doors at the inner hall, each of the guards gave a little start as the spells hit them.

Hermione’s long black hair rippled behind her as she climbed the steps.

“One moment, madam,” said the guard, raising his Probe.

“But you’ve just done that!” said Hermione in Bellatrix’s commanding, arrogant voice. Travers looked around, eyebrows raised. The guard was confused. He stared down at the thin golden Probe and then at his companion, who said in a slightly dazed voice,

“Yeah, you’ve just checked them, Marius.”

Hermione swept forward, Ron by her side, the Doctor, Harry, and Griphook trotting invisibly behind them. The Doctor glanced back as they crossed the threshold: The wizards were both scratching their heads.

Two goblins stood before the inner doors, which were made of silver and which carried the poem warning of dire retribution to potential thieves. The long counter was manned by goblins sitting on high stools, serving the first customers of the day. Hermione, Ron, the Doctor, and Travers headed toward an old goblin who was examining a thick gold coin through an eyeglass, the Doctor heard Harry’s footsteps behind them. Hermione allowed Travers to step ahead of her on the pretext of explaining features of the hall to Ron.

The goblin tossed the coin he was holding aside, said to nobody in particular, “Leprechaun,” and then greeted Travers, who passed over a tiny golden key, which was examined and given back to him.

Hermione stepped forward.

“Madam Lestrange!” said the goblin, evidently startled. “Dear me! How – how may I help you today?”

“I wish to enter my vault,” said Hermione.

The old goblin seemed to recoil a little. The Doctor glanced around Not only was Travers hanging back, watching, but several other goblins had looked up from their work to stare at Hermione.

“You have…identification?” asked the goblin.

“Identification? I – I have never been asked for identification before!” said Hermione. 

“ _ They know!”  _ The Doctor heard Griphook whisper in Harry’s ear. “ _ They must have been warned there might be an imposter!” _

“Your wand will do, madam,” said the goblin. He held out a slightly trembling hand, and in a dreadful blast of realization, the Doctor knew that the goblins of Gringotts were aware that Bellatrix’s wand had been stolen. He pulled out his wand out, but before he could do anything, he heard Harry whisper,

“ _ Imperio _ !” 

“Ah, you have had a new wand made Madam Lestrange!”

“What?” said Hermione, but the Doctor had elbowed her to get her to stop talking.

“A new wand?” said Travers, approaching the counter again; still the goblins all around were watching. “But how could you have done, which wandmaker did you use?”

“ _ Imperio _ !” Harry whispered again, and Travers looked down at Bellatrix’s wand, “Oh yes, I see, yes, very handsome. And is it working well? I always think wands require a little breaking in, don’t you?”

The old goblin behind the counter clapped his hands and a younger goblin approached.

“I shall need the Clankers,” he told the goblin, who dashed away and returned a moment later with a leather bag that seemed to be full of jangling metal, which he handed to his senior. “Good, good! So, if you will follow me, Madam Lestrange,” said the old goblin, hopping down off his stool and vanishing from sight, “I shall take you to your vault.”

He appeared around the end of the counter, jogging happily toward them, the contents of the leather bag still jingling. Travers was now standing quite still with his mouth hanging wide open. Ronw as drawing attention to this odd phenomenon by regarding Travers with confusion.

“Wait – Bogrod!”

Another goblin came scurrying around the counter.

“We have instructions,” he said with a bow to Hermione. “Forgive me, Madam, but there have been special orders regarding the vault of Lestrange.”

He whispered urgently in Bogrod’s ear, but the Imperiused goblin shook him off.

“I am aware of the instructions. Madam Lestrange wishes to visit her vault…Very old family…old clients…this way, please…”

And, still clanking, he hurried toward one of the many doors leading off the hall. The Doctor looked back at Travers come with them, walking meekly in their wake as they reached the door and passed into the rough stone passageway beyond, which was lit with flaming torches.

“We’re in trouble; they suspect,” said Harry as the door slammed behind them and he pulled off the Invisibility Cloak. Griphook jumped down from his shoulders; neither Travers nor Bogrod showed the slighted surprise at the sudden appearance of Harry Potter in their midst. “They’re Imperiused,” Harry added, in response to Hermione and Ron’s confused queries about Travers and Bogrod, who were both now standing there looking blank. “I don’t think I did it strongly enough, I don’t know.”

“So,” said Griphook, “we need Bogrod to control the cart; I no longer have the authority. But there will not be room for the wizard.”

Harry pointed his wand at Travers and whispered, “ _ Imperio _ !” The wizard turned and set off along the dark track at a smart pace.

“What are you making him do?”

“Hide,” said Harry as he pointed his wand at Bogrod, who whistled to summon a little cart that came trundling along the tracks toward them out of the darkness. The Doctor could hear shouting behind them in the main hall as they all clambered into it, Bogrod at the front with Griphook, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the Doctor crammed together in the back, barely keeping on the cart.

With a jerk, the cart moved off, gathering speed: They hurled past Travers, who was wriggling into a crack in the wall, then the cart began twisting and turning through the labyrinthine passages, sloping downward all the time. 

They flew down the passages, taking a hairpin bend at speed and saw ahead of them, with seconds to spare, a waterfall pounding over the track. The Doctor heard Griphook shout, “No!” but there was no braking: They zoomed through it. Then, with an awful lurch, the cart flipped over and they were all thrown out of it. The Doctor heard the cart smash into pieces against the passage wall. With a quick wave of his wand, the Doctor cast a Cushioning Charm and felt himself glide back toward the ground as though weightless, landing painlessly on the rocky passage floor. Hermione, Ron, and Harry landing right beside him.

The Doctor looked at Hermione, only to find she was no longer Bellatrix, but herself, standing in overlarge robes and sopping wet. The Doctor quickly flicked his wand, drying the five of them off, noticing Ron was now red-haired and beardless again.

“The Thief’s Downfall!” said Griphook, clambering to his feet and looking back at the dluge onto the tracks, which, the Doctor knew now, had been more than water. “It washes away all enchantment, all magical concealment! They know there are imposters in Gringotts, they have set off defenses against us!”

The Doctor saw Hermione checking that she still had the beaded bag, and Harry if he still had the Invisibility Cloak. He then turned to see Bogrod shaking his head in bewilderment: The Thief’s Downfall seemed to have lifted the Imperius Curse.

“We need him,” said Griphook, “we cannot enter the vault without a Gringotts goblin. And we need the Clankers!”

“ _ Imperio _ !” Harry said again, his voice echoes through the stone passage. Bogrod submitted once more and his befuddled expression became one of polite indifference, as Ron hurried to pick up the leather bag of metal tools.

“ _ Protego _ !” The Doctor called, hearing some approaching company and breaking the flow of enchanted water as it flew up the passageway.

“Lead the way.” The Doctor said to Griphook, who began to take them further. 

They turned the corner and saw the thing for which they had been prepared, but which still brought them all to a halt. 

A large dragon was tethered to the ground in front of them, barring access to four or five of the deepest vaults in the place. His scales were pale and flakey from its long incarceration under the ground; his eyes were milkily pink; both rear legs bore heavy cuffs from which chains led to enormous pegs driven deep into the rocky floor. His great spiked wings folded close to his body, would have filled the chamber if he spread them, and when he turned his head toward them, he roared with a noise that made the rock tremble, opened his mouth, and spat a jet of fire at them that sent them running back up the passageway.

“It is partially blind,” panted Griphook, “but even more savage for that. However, we have the means to control it. It has learned what to expect when the Clankers come. Give them to me.”

Ron began to pass the bag to Griphook, but the Doctor snatched it out of his hands. “We don’t need that.” The Doctor spat, “It’s unnecessary.”

“And you have a better way to control the beast?”

“Yes, I do.” 

The Doctor made his way over, “Hello?” The dragon’s head moved in the Doctor’s general direction, and it was then that the Doctor saw the scars made by vicious slashes across its face.

“Oh, I am so sorry…” The Doctor whispered, staring at the marks across the dragon’s face.

“ _ Who are you?” _

“I’m the Doctor,” The Doctor said, “I’m here to help. May I approach you?”

“ _ Why do you seek audience with me, Physician?” _

“I want to help you, but I need your help first.”

“ _ Why would you help me? Neither wizards nor goblins have shown any inclination of kindness.” _

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m neither, then.” The Doctor took a step forward, “We need to get into a vault, not to steal, but to destroy an article of evil.”

“ _ If I let you in, will you release me from my prison?” _

“Yes.”

“ _ But why should I trust you?” _

“Because,” The Doctor said, “Because I understand you. I know how much it hurts you, and I cannot stand by and let you stay imprisoned down here. Now please, we have to move quickly, will you help us?”

“ _ Yes.” _

“Thank you.” The Doctor smiled, gesturing for Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Griphook to come out, 

“How did you –” Griphook began to ask, but the Doctor just said,

“I speak Ukrainian Ironbelly.”

“What?”

“Come on, we haven’t much time!” Harry said urgently.

Griphook forced Bogrod’s palm upon the wood, and the door of the vault melted away to reveal a cavelike opening crammed from floor to ceiling with golden coins and goblets, silver armor, the skins of dragons and other magical creatures, potions in jeweled flasks, and a skull still wearing a crown. 

The Doctor quickly scanned the room, each bit of gold was enchanted with the Gemino and Flagrante Curses. “Don’t touch anything.” He warned. He looked up on the shelf to where he felt the energy coming from,“It’s right there,” He said, pointing a small cup engraved with a badger on a shelf high in the air.

“And how the hell are we going to get up there without touching anything?” asked Ron.

“ _Accio Cup!”_ cried Hermione, who had evidently forgotten in her desperation what Griphook had told them during their planning sessions.  
“No use, no use!” snarled the goblin.

“Then what do we do?” said Harry, stepping back and accidently sending a great cascade of fake Galleons onto the ground where they bean multiplying and knocking other things over, the glowing gold blazing with heat. “Can I touch stuff with the sword?” Harry asked, “Hermione, give it here!”

Hermione fumbled inside her robes, drew out the beaded bag, rummaged for a few seconds, then removed the shining sword. Harry seized it by its rubied hilt and touched the tip of the blade to a silver flagon nearby, which did not multiply.

“If I can just poke the sword through the handle – but how am I going to get up there?”

The shelf on which the cup reposed was out of reach for any of them. The Doctor cursed, had he not been turned into a seventeen-year-old…

The heat from the enchanted treasure rose in waved, the Doctor saw sweat running down Harry, Ron, and Hermione’s faces as his body worked to keep his internal temperature so that the rising heat wouldn’t affect him. The dragon roared on the other side of the door, and the sound of clanking grew louder and louder, 

“ _ Wingardium Leviosa!” _ The Doctor said, casting the spell on Harry, who rose into the air, letting out a yelp of surprise, and accidently knocking his hand into a suit of armor and replicas burst out of it ike white-hot bodies, filling the cramped space. Ron, Hermione, ad the two goblins were knocked aside into other objects, which also began to replicate. The Doctor, whom had been very careful to select a small, open spot in which to avoid touching things, found items closing in on him.

Harry thrust the sword through the handle of the Hufflepuff’s cup, hooking it onto the blade. 

The Doctor, Ron, Hermione, and the two goblins quickly felt themselves waist-deep in treasure. It was then, that Griphook lunged for the sword, the cup flying across the room, caught by the Doctor. With the sword in hand, Griphook sprinted for cover amongst the surrounding goblins, brandishing the sword and crying, “Thieves! Thieves! Help! Thieves!” He vanished into the midst of the advancing crowd, all of whom were holding daggers and who accepted him without question.

Slipping on the hot metal, the Doctor got to his feet, yelled, “ _ Stupify!” _ Ron and Hermione quickly joined in, stunning the goblins. Several wizards came running around the corner. “I’ve got a plan!” The Doctor shouted at Hermione, Ron, and Harry, sprinting toward the dragon. Pointing his wand at the thick cuffs chaining the dragon to the floor, the Doctor yelled, “ _ Relashio _ !”

The cuffs broke open with loud bangs.

“Alright,” The Doctor said, “I’m releasing you from your chains, but we need you to fly us somewhere, anywhere, just away.”  
“ _As you wish._ ” The dragon said as the Doctor jumped upon him. The scales were hard as steel, and the Doctor pulled up Hermione, who helped Harry up as Ron climbed on behind them. 

With a roar, the dragon reared, the Doctor held tight to the jagged scales as the wings opened, knocking the shrieking goblin aside like skittles, and he soared into the air. 

“We’ll never get out, it’s too big!” Hermione screamed, but the dragon opened his mouth and belched flame again, blasting the tunnel, whose floors and ceiling cracked and crumbled. By sheer force, the dragon clawed and fought his way through. Deafening crashing of rock and dragon roars rang through the air. “ _ Defodio _ !” The Doctor shouted, enlarging the passageway and carving out the ceiling, Hermione joined in. The dragon struggled upward toward the fresher air, away from the shrieking and clanking goblins, Ron and Harry following the Doctor’s and Hermione’s lead. They passed the underground lake, and the dragon seemed to sense freedom and space ahead of it, and behind them the passage was full of the dragon’s thrashing, spiked tail, of great lumps of rock, gigantic fractured stalactites, and the clanking of goblins seemed to be growing more muffled, while ahead, the dragon’s fire kept their progress clear –

And then at last, by the combined force of their spells and the dragon’s brute strength, they had blaster their way out of the passage into the marble hallway. Goblins and wizards shrieked and ran for cover, and finally, the dragon had room to stretch his wings: Turning his horned head toward the cool outside air he could smell beyond the entrance, he took off, and with the Doctor, Harry, Ron, and Hermione still clinging to his back, he forced his way through the metal doors, leaving them buckled and hanging from their hinges, as he staggered into Diagon Alley and launched himself into the sky.


	24. The Final Hiding Place

They climbed higher and higher into the sky, London unfurling below them like a gray-and-green map. The Doctor instructed the dragon where to go, trying to direct him back in the direction of Ukraine, where he would be amongst other Ukrainian Ironbelly dragons.  They clung tight to the metallic scales, behind him, from either delight or fear he could not tell, Ron kept swearing at the top of his voice, and Hermione seemed to be sobbing. Harry was quiet. 

The dragon ascended, craving cooler and fresher air until they were flying through wisps of chilly cloud, and soon they flew over countryside parceled out in patches of green and brown, over roads and rivers winding through the landscape like strips of matte and glossy ribbon.

The sun slipped lower in the sky, which was turning indigo, and they continued to soar through the sky, cities and tows gliding out of sight beneath them, his enormous shadow sliding over the earth like a great dark cloud. “ _ I shall descend here where I may quench my thirst. _ ” The dragon said, the Doctor turning back and relaying the message to the others.

It was a rough landing, but they touched the ground beside the water as the dragon bowed his head to drink, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the Doctor sliding off his back, drawing out their wands and beginning to create their protective enchantments. The Doctor then bid farewell to the dragon who flew in the direction of Ukraine. 

“Well, on the upside,” said Ron after a few minutes’ silence, “we got the Horcrux. On the downside –”

“– no sword,” said Harry through gritted teeth. 

“No sword,” replied Ron. “That double-crossing little scab…”

Harry pulled out the Horcrux from his jacket pocket and set it down on the grass in front of them. Glinting in the sun, it drew their eyes. 

“At least we can’t wear it this time,” said Ron, “that’d look a bit weird hanging around our necks.”

“What’ll happen to it, do you think?” Hermione asked, watching as the dragon took flight once again,

“I’ve shown him the way back home to others of his kind.” The Doctor said, “He will be just fine.”

“Good.” Hermione nodded.

“It’ll take care of itself,” Ron said, “It’s us we need to worry about.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked,

“Well, I don’t know how to break this to you,” said Ron, “but I think they  _ might _ have noticed we broke into Gringotts.”

The four of them started to laugh, smiles forcing their way through.

“What are we going to do, though?” said Hermione finally, making her way back to seriousness, “He’ll know, won’t he? You-Know-Who will know we know about his Horcruxes!”

“Maybe they’ll be too scared to tell him?” said Ron hopefully. “Maybe they’ll cover up –” Suddenly, the Doctor saw Harry hit the ground, his hands over his scar. Jumping over to him, the Doctor pressed his hands to Harry’s head, delving into his mind.

Voldemort was standing in a dimly lit room, and a semicircle of wizards faced him, and on the floor at his feet knelt a small, quaking figure.

“What did you say to me?” Voldemort demanded, the trembling goblin was unable to meet the red eyes high above his.

“Say it again!” murmured Voldemort. “ _ Say it again!” _

“M-my Lord,” stammered the goblin, his black eyes wide with terror, “my-my Lord…we t-tried t-to st-stop them…Im-imposters, my Lord…broke – broke into the – into the Lestranges’ v-vault…”

“Imposters? What imposters? I thought Gringotts had ways of revealing impostors? Who were they?”

“It was…it was…the P-Potter b-boy and th-three accomplices…”

“ _ And they took?” _ Voldemort said, his voice rising. “Tell me!  _ What did they take?” _

“A…a s-small golden c-cup, m-my Lord…”

A scream of rage left Voldemort, the Elder Wand slashed through the air and green light erupted through the room; the kneeling goblin rolled over, dead; the watching wizards scattered before him, terrified: Bellatrix and Lucius Malfoy threw others behind them in their race for the door, and again and again, his wand fell, and those who were left slain, all of them, for bringing him this news, for hearing about the golden cup –

Alone amongst the dead, Voldemort stormed up and down, pacing the room and kicking aside the goblin’s corpse as he passed. Visions of Horcruxes passed through the air, the vault, a shack, the snake, and Hogwarts –

A modicum of calm cool rage emitted from the Dark Lord, “I must visit them.” He whispered to himself. He called to the snake, and quickly Disapparated.

The Doctor pulled himself from Harry’s head as Harry opened his eyes and wrenched himself back to the present.

“He knows.” Harry whispered to Ron and Hermione, “He knows and he’s going to check where the others are, and the last one,” Harry was already on his feet, “is at Hogwarts. I knew it. I  _ knew _ it.”

“What?” Ron asked, gaping. “But what did you see? How do you know?”

“I saw him find out about the cup, I – I was in his head,” The Doctor looked strangely at Harry, as he had never mentioned that before, the Doctor always saw it from an outside view, but Harry was inside Voldemort’s head… “he’s – he seriously angry,” Harry continued, “and scared too, he can’t understand how we knew, and now he’s going to check the others are safe, the ring first. He thinks the Hogwarts one is safest, because Snape’s there, because it’ll be so hard not to be seen getting in, I think he’ll check that one last, but he could still be there within hours –”

“Did you see where in Hogwarts it is?” asked Ron,

“No, he was concentrating on warning Snape, he didn’t think about exactly where it is –”

“Wait,  _ wait!” _ cried Hermione as Ron caught up the Horcrux and Harry pulled out the Invisibility Cloak again. “We can’t just  _ go _ , we haven’t got a plan, we need to –”

“We don’t need a plan,” The Doctor said, “I’ve never got a plan, and it always works itself out.”

“Yeah,” said Harry, “And can you imagine what he’s going to do once he realized the ring and the locket are gone? What if he moves the Hogwarts Horcrux, decides it isn’t safe enough?”

“But how are we going to get in?”

“We’ll go to Hogsmeade,” said Harry, “and try to work something out once we see what the protection around the school’s like. Get under the Cloak, Hermione, I want to stick together this time.”

“The four of us will never fit.” Hermione said,

“Don’t worry about me,” The Doctor said, “I’ve got my perception filter, so as long as I don’t make myself noticeable, I won’t be.”

“Fine.” Hermione reluctantly got beneath the Cloak, joining Ron and Harry as the Doctor slid on his perception filter. Together, they turned on the spot into the crushing darkness.


	25. The Missing Mirror

The Doctor’s feet touched the road and he saw the Hogsmeade High Street: dark shop fronts, and the outline of black mountains beyond the village, and the curve in the road ahead that led off toward Hogwarts, and light spilling from the windows of the Three Broomsticks.

Without warning, the air was rent by a scream that sounded much like Voldemort’s when he had realized the cup had been stolen: The Doctor knew that their appearance had caused it. Even as he looked at the other two beneath the Cloak, the door of the Three Broomsticks burst open and a dozen cloaked and hooded Death Eaters dashed into the street, their wands aloft.

The Doctor seized Harry’s invisible wrist, not wanting to lose them; there were too many of them to Stun: Even attempting it would give away their position. One of the Death Eaters waved his wand and the scream stopped, still echoing around the distant mountains.

“ _Accio Cloak!”_ roared one of the Death Eaters, the Doctor waited for Harry, Ron, and Hermione to be revealed, but the CLoak didn’t budge.

“Not under your wrapper, then, Potter?” yelled the Death Eater who had tried the charm, and then to his fellows, “Spread out. He’s here.”

Six of the Death Eaters ran toward them: The Doctor, Harry, Ron, and Hermione backed as quickly as possible to the nearest side street.

“Let’s just leave!” Hermione whispered. “Disapparate now!”

“Great idea,” said Ron, but before either Harry or the Doctor could reply, a Death Eater shouted,

“We know you’re here, Potter, and there’s no getting away! We’ll find you!”

“We can’t,” The Doctor said, “They were ready for us, we can’t leave.”

“What about dementors?” called another Death Eater. “Let ‘em have free rein, they’d find him quick enough!”

“The Dark Lord wants Potter dead by no hand but his –”

“–an’ dementors won’t kill him! The Dark Lord wants Potter’s life, not his soul. He’ll be easier to kill if he’s been Kissed first!”

There were noises of agreement. Dread filled the Doctor.

“We’re going to have to try to Disapparate!” Hermione whispered,

“We can’t!” The Doctor hissed, not daring let an ounce of fear into his voice. Even as the Doctor said it, he felt the unnatural cold begin to steal over the street. Light was sucked from the environment right up to the stars, which vanished. The cold was biting deeper and deeper into the Doctor’s flesh, and the first mental attacks rained down on the Doctor. Just as he stumbled, nearly falling to the ground, he heard Harry whisper, “ _Expecto Patronum!”_ and a silver stag burst from Harry’s wand and charged: The dementors scattered and there was a triumphant yell from somewhere out of sight.

“It’s him, down there, down there, I saw his Patronus, it was a stag!”

The dementors had retreated, the stars were popping out again, and the footsteps of the Death Eaters were becoming louder; but before the Doctor could do anything, there was a grinding of bolts nearby, a door opened on the left-hand side of the narrow street, and a rough voice said, “Potter, in here, quick!”

Harry obayed, pulling along Ron and Hermione, the Doctor following right behind them through the open doorway.

“Upstairs, keep the Cloak on, keep quiet!” muttered a tall figure, passing them on his way into the street and slamming the door behind him. Without hesitation, the four of them ran behind the counter and through a second doorway, which led to a rickety wooden staircase that they climbed as fast as the could. The stairs opened onto a sitting room with a threadbare carpet and a small fireplace, above which hung a single large oil painting of a blond girl who gazed out at the room with a kind of vacant sweetness.

Shouts reached them from the street below. Still wearing the Invisibility Cloak, they crept toward the grimy window and looked down. Their savior, whom the Doctor assumed was the pub’s barman, was the only person not wearing a hood.

“So what?” he was bellowing into one of the hooded faces. “So what? You send dementors down my street, I’ll send a Patronus back at ‘em! I’m not having ‘em near me, I’ve told you that, I’m not having it!”

“That wasn’t  your Patronus!” said a Death Eater. “That was a stag, it was Potter’s!”

“Stag!” roared the barman, and he pulled out his wand. “Stag! You idiot – _Expecto Patronum!”_

A goat erupted from the wand: Head down, it charged toward the High Street and out of sight.

“That’s not what I saw –” said the Death Eater, though with less certainty.

“Curfew’s been broken, you heard the noise,” one of his companions told the barman. “Someone was out in the street against regulations –”

“If I want to put my cat out, I will, and be damned your curfew!”

“ _You_ set off the Caterwauling Charm?”

“What if I did? Going to cart me off to Azkaban? Kill me for sticking my nose out my own front door? Do it, then, if you want to! But I hope for your sakes you haven’t pressed your little Dark Marks and summoned him. He’s not going to like being called here for me and my old cat, is he, now?”

“Don’t you worry about us,” said one of the Death Eaters, “worry about yourself, breaking curfew!”

“And where will you lot traffik potions and poisons when my pub’s closed down? What’ll happen to your little sidelines then?”

“Are you threatening – ?”

“I’ll keep my mouth shut, it’s why you come here, isn’t it?”

“I still say I saw a stag Patronus!” shouted the first Death Eater.

“Stag?” roared the barman. “It’s a _goat_ , idiot!”

“All right, we made a mistake,” said the second Death Eater. “Break curfew again and we won’t be so lenient!”

The Death Eaters strode back toward the High Street. Hermione moaned with relief, wove out from under the Cloak, and sat down on a wobble-legged chair. Harry drew the curtains tight shut, then pulled the Cloak off himself and Ron. The Doctor removed his perception filter, and could hear the barman down below, rebolting the door of the bar, then climbing the stairs.

The barman entered the room.

“You bloody fools,” he said gruffly, looking from one to the other of them. “What were you thinking, coming here?”

“Thank you,” said Harry. “We can’t thank you enough. You saved our lives.”

The barman grunted. Harry approached him, “It’s your eye I’ve been seeing in the mirror.”

There was silence in the room. The Doctor whispered, “What mirror?” But no one answered him, and Harry and the barman looked at each other.

“You sent Dobby.”

The barman nodded and looked around for the elf.

“Thought he’d be with you. Where’ve you left him?”

“He’s dead,” the Doctor said. “Bellatrix Lestrange killed him.”

The barman’s face was impassive. After a few moments he said, “I’m sorry to hear it. I liked that elf.”

He turned away, lighting lamps with prods of his wand, not looking at any of them.

“Your Aberforth,” said Harry to the man’s back.

He neither confirmed nor denied it, but bent to light the fire.

“How did you get this?” Harry asked, walking across to a mirror.

“Bought it from Dung ‘bout a year ago,” said Aberforth. “Albus told me what it was. Been trying to keep an eye out for you.”

Ron gasped.

“The silver doe!” he said excitedly. “Was that you too?”

“No,” The Doctor said, “His is a goat.”

“Oh,” said Ron. “Yeah…well, I’m hungry!” he added defensively as his stomach gave an enormous rumble.

“I got food,” said Aberforth, and he sloped out of the room, reappearing moments later with a large loaf of bread, some cheese, and a pewter jug of mead, which he set upon a small table in front of the fire.

“Right then,” said Aberforth when they had eaten their fill, and Harry and Ron sat slumped dozily in their chairs. “We need to think of the best way to get you out of here. Can’t be done by night, you heard what happens if anyone moves outdoors during darkness: Caterwauling Charm’s set off, they’ll be onto you like bowtruckles on doxy eggs. I don’t reckon I’ll be able to pass off a stag as a goat a second time. Wat for daybreak when curfew lifts, then you can put your Cloak back on and set out on foot. Get right out of Hogsmeade, up into the mountains, and you’ll never able to Disapparate there. Might see Hagrid. He’s been hiding in a cave up there with Grawp ever since they tried to arrest him.”

“We’re not leaving,” The Doctor said, “We need to get into Hogwarts.”

“Don’t be stupid, boy,” said Aberforth.

“We’ve got to,” said Harry.

“What you’ve got to do,” said Aberforth, leaning forward, “is to get as far from here as you can.”  
“And what then?” The Doctor asked, “Nothing changes if nobody does anything to change it. We want to take down You-Know-Who’s regime, and we know no one’s about to do it for us.”

“Yeah,” said Harry, “Dumbledore – I mean, your brother – wanted us –”

“My brother Albus wanted a lot of things,” said Aberforth, “and people had a habit of getting hurt while he was carrying out his grand plans. You get away from this school, Potter, and out of the country if you can. Forget my brother and his clever schemes. He’s gone where none of this can hurt him, and you don’t owe him anything.”

“And what will change if we do nothing?” The Doctor demanded,

“There’s nothing you can do, it’s over, You-Know-Who’s won, and anyone who’s pretending different is kidding themselves. It’ll never be safe for you here, Potter, he wants you too badly. So go abroad, go into hiding, save yourself.

“I can’t leave,” said Harry. “Dumbledore gave me a job –”  
“Give it to someone else!”

“I can’t. It’s got to be me, Dumbledore explained it all –”

“Oh, did he now? And did he tell you everything, was he honest with you?”

Harry looked as though he wanted to say “yes,” but couldn’t. Aberforth seemed to know what he was thinking.

“I knew my brother, Potter. He learned secrecy at our mother’s knee. Secrets and lies, that’s how we grew up, and Albus…he was a natural.”

The man’s eyes traveled to the painting of the girl over the mantelpiece.

“That’s Ariana, isn’t it?” The Doctor said softly,

“Yes,” said Aberforth tersely. “Been reading Rita Skeeter, have you, young man?” The Doctor cringed at the words ‘young man,’ but didn’t comment.

“No, I just happen to contain a lot of knowledge of influential people.”

“Yes, well, my brother –”

“– No,” The Doctor cut him off, “Not your brother, Ariana.”

“What do you mean?” Aberforth looked speechless, “How was she – ?”

“Oh, word gets around. I’m rather influential myself and do have a tendency to talk. Some stories get told, you know.”

“What – who are you?”  
“Oh, just a traveler, now, we need to get into Hogwarts.”

“Wait,” Hermione said, “What did happen to Ariana? Really, I mean.”

Aberforth sighed, closing his eyes,

“When my sister was six years old, she was attacked, set upon, by three Muggle boys. They’d seen her doing magic, spying through the back garden hedge: She was a kid, she couldn’t control it, no witch or wizard can at that age. What they saw scared them, I expect. They forced their way through the hedge, and when she couldn’t show them the trick, they got a bit carried away trying to stop the little freak doing it.”

Aberforth stood up, tall, and suddenly terrible in his anger and the intensity of his pain.

“It destroyed her, what they did: She was never right again. She wouldn’t use magic, but she couldn’t get rid of it; it turned inward and drove her mad, it exploded out of her when she couldn’t control it, and at times she was strange and dangerous. But mostly she was sweet and scared and harmless.”

“An Obscurial.” The Doctor whispered, Aberforth nodded his head.

“And my father went after the bastards that did it,” he continued, “and attacked them. And they locked him up in Azkaban for it. He never said why he’d done it, because if the Ministry had known what Ariana had become, she’d have been locked up in St. Mungo’s for good. They’d have seen her as a serious threat to the International Statute of Secrecy, unbalanced like she was, with magic exploding out of her at moments when she couldn’t keep it in any longer.

“We had to keep her safe and quiet. We moved house, put it about she was ill, and my mother looked after her, and tried to keep her calm and happy.

“ _I_ was her favorite,” he said, “Not Albus, he was always up in his bedroom when he was home, reading his books and counting his prizes, keeping up with his correspondence with ‘the most notable magical names of the day,’” Aberforth sneered. “ _He_ didn’t want to be bothered with her. She liked me best. I could get her to eat when she wouldn’t do it for my mother, I could get her to calm down when she was in one of her rages, and when she was quiet, she used to help me feed the goats.

“Then, when she was fourteen…See, I wasn’t there,” said Aberforth. “If I’d been there, I could have calmed her down. She had one of her rages, and my mother wasn’t as young as she was, and…it was an accident. Ariana couldn’t control it. But my mother was killed. So that put paid to Albus’s trip round the world with little Doge. The pair of ‘em came home for my mother’s funeral and then Doge went off on his own, and Albus settled down as head of the family. Ha!”

Aberforth sat into the fire.

“I’d have looked after her, I told him so, I didn’t care about school, I’d have stayed home and done it. He told me I had to finish my education and _he’d_ take over from my mother. Bit of a comedown for Mr. Brilliant, there’s no prizes for looking after your half-mad sister, stopping her blowing up the house every other day. But he did all right for a few weeks…till he came.”

And now a positively dangerous look crept over Averforth’s face.

“Grindelwald. And at last, my brother had an _equal_ to talk to, someone just as bright and talented as _he_ was. And looking after Ariana took a backseat then, while they were hatching all their plans for a new Wizarding order, and looking for _Hallows_ , and whatever else they were so interested in. Grand plans for the benefit of all Wizardkind, and if one young girl got neglected, what did that matter, when Albus was working for _the greater good?_

“But after weeks of it, I’d had enough, I had. It was nearly time for me to go back to Hogwarts, so I told ’em, both of ‘em, face-to-face, like I am to you, now,” and Aberforth looked down at the four of them, “I told him, you’d better give it up now. You can’t move her, she’s in no fit state, you can’t take her with you, wherever it is you’re planning to go, when you’re making your clever speeches, trying to whip yourselves up a following. He didn't like that,” said Aberforth. “Grindelwald didn’t like that at all. He got angry. He told me what a stupid little boy I was, trying to stand in the way of him and my brilliant brother…Didn’t I _understand_ , my poor sister wouldn’t _have_ to be hidden once they’d changed the world, and led the wizards out of hiding, and taught the Muggles their place?

“And there was an argument…and I pulled out my wand, and he pulled out his, and I had the Cruciatus Curse used on my by my brother’s best friend – and ALbus was trying to stop him, and then all three of us were duling, and the flashing lights and the bangs set her off, she couldn’t stand it –”

The colour was draining from Aberforth’s face.

“– and I think she wanted to help, but she didn’t really know what she was doing, and I don’t know which one of us did it, it could have been any of us – and she was dead.”

His voice broke on the last word and he dropped down into the nearest chair. Hermione’s face was wet with tears, Ron was almost as pale as Aberforth, and Harry looked revolted. The Doctor closed his eyes, trying to push away thoughts of his mother, of his sisters, of his daughters…

“I’m so sorry.” He whispered, “I know what it’s like to lose a sister…”

“Gone,” croaked Averforth. “Gone forever.”

He wiped his nose on his cuff and cleared his throat.

“‘Course, Grindelwald scarpered. He had a bit of a track record already, back in his own country, and he didn’t want Ariana set to his account too. And Albus was free, wasn’t he? Free of the burden of his sister, free to become the greatest wizard of the –”

“He was never free,” said Harry.

“I beg your pardon?” said Aberforth.

“Never,” said Harry. “The night that your brother died, he drank a potion that drove him out of his mind. He started screaming, pleading with someone who wasn’t there. ‘Don’t hurt them, please…hurt me instead.’ He thought he was back there with you and Grindelwald, I know he did,” said Harry, “He thought he was watching Grindelwald hurting you and Ariana…It was torture to him, if you’d seen him then, you wouldn’t say he was free.”

Aberforth seemed lost in contemplation of his own knotted and veined hands. After a long pause he said, “How can you be sure, Potter, that my brother wasn’t more interested in the greater good than you? How can you be sure you aren’t dispensable, just like my little sister?”

“I don’t believe it.” Said Hermione, “Dumbledore loved Harry,”

“Why didn’t he tell him to hide, then?” shot back Aberforth. “Why didn’t he say to him, ‘Take care of yourself, here’s how to survive’?”

“Because,” said Harry before anyone else could answer, “sometimes you’ve _got_ to think about more than your own safety! Sometimes you’ve _got_ to think about the greater good! This is war!”

“You’re seventeen, boy!”

“I’m of age, and I’m going to keep fighting even if you’ve given up!”

“Who says I’ve given up?”

“You-Know-Who’s won, it’s over,” Harry repeated, “‘anyone who’s pretending different is kidding themselves.’”

“I don’t say I like it, but it’s the truth!”

“No it isn’t,” The Doctor said, “Albus knew how to defeat You-Know-Who, and he’s passed that knowledge onto Harry. We can defeat him, we just need your help. Now, can you get us into Hogwarts?”

Aberforth remained fixed in his chair, gazing at Harry, the Doctor, Ron, and Hermione. At last, he cleared his throat, got to his feat, walked around the little table, and approached the portrait of Ariana.

“You know what to do,” he said.

She smiled, turned, and walked away, not as people in wizarding portraits usually did, out of the sides of their frames, but along what seemed to be a long tunnel panted behind her. They watched her slight figure retreating until finally she was swallowed by the darkness.

“Er – what – ?” Began Ron.

“THere’s only one way in now,” said Aberforth. “You must know they’ve got all the old secret passageways covered at both ends, dementors all around the boundary walls, regular patrols inside the school from what my sources tell me. The place has never been so heavily guarded. How you expect to do anything once you get inside it, with Snape in charge and the Carrows as his deputies…well, that’s your lookout, isn’t it?”

“But what…?” said Hermione, frowning at Ariana’s picture. A tiny white dot had reappeared at the end of the painted tunnel, and now Ariana was walking back toward them, growing bigger and bigger as she came. But there was somebody else with her now, someone taller than she was, who was limping along, looking excited. His hair was long and he appeared to have suffered several gahes to his face and his clothes were ripped and torn. Larger and larger the two figures grew, until only their heads and shoulders filled the portrait. Then, the whole thing swung forward on the wall like a little door, and the entrance to a real tunnel was revealed. And out of it, his hair overgrown, his face cut, his robes ripped, clambered a young man who gave a roar of delight, leapt down from the mantelpiece, and yelled, “I knew you’d come! _I knew it, Harry!”_ Harry just stared at him,

“Neville?”


	26. The Lost Diadem

“Neville – what the – how – ?” 

But Neville had spotted Ron and Hermione, and with yells of delight was hugging them too. He then looked at the Doctor, “Who are you?”

“I’m the Doctor.” 

“Okay…” Neville gave him a strange look, than turned back to Harry, “I knew you’d come! Kept telling Seamus it was a matter of time!”

“Neville, what’s happened to you?” Hermione asked,

“What? This?” Neville dismissed his injuries with a shake of the head. “This is nothing. Seamus is worse. You’ll see. Shall we get going then? Oh,” he turned to Aberforth, “Ab, there might be a couple more people on the way.”

“Couple more?” repeated Aberforth ominously. “What d’you mean, a couple more, Longbottom? There’s a curfew and the Caterwauling Charm on the whole village!”

“I know, that’s why they’ll be Apparating directly into the bar,” said Neville. “Just send them down the passage when they get here, will you? Thanks a lot.”

Neville held out his hand to Hermione and helped her to climb up onto the mantelpiece and into the tunnel; Ron followed, then Neville. Harry addressed Aberforth.

“I don’t know to thank you. You’ve saved our lives twice.”

“Look after ‘em, then,” said Aberforth gruffly. “I might not be able to save ‘em a third time.”

Harry clambered up onto the mantelpiece and through the hole, the Doctor turned to Aberforth, “She won’t be forgotten, Aberforth, I’ll make sure of that.”

“Who are you?” Aberforth asked, 

“I’m the Doctor.” And with that, the Doctor pulled himself into the hole behind Ariana’s portrait. There were smooth stone steps on the other side: It looked as though the passageway had been there for years. Brass lamps hung from the walls and the earthy floor was worn and smooth; as they walked, their shadows rippled, fanlike, across the wall.

“How long’s this been here?” Ron asked as they set off. “It isn’t on the Marauder's Map, is it, Harry? I thought there were only seven passages in and out of the school?”

“They sealed off all those before the start of the year,” said Neville. “There’s no chance of getting through any of them now, not with curses over the entrances and Death Eaters and dementors waiting at the exits.” He started walking backward, beaming, drinking them in. “Never mind that stuff…Is it true? Did you break into Gringotts? Did you escape on a dragon? It’s everywhere, everyone’s talking about it, Terry Boot gott beaten up by Carrow for yelling about it in the Great Hall at dinner!”

“Yeah, it’s true,” said Harry.

Neville laughed gleefully.

“What did you do with the dragon?”  
“Sent it back home to Ukraine.” The Doctor said, 

“But what have you been doing?” Neville asked eagerly, “People have been saying you’ve just been on the run, Harry, but I don’t think so. I think you’ve been up to something.”

“You’re right,” said Harry, “but tell us about Hogwarts, Neville, we haven’t heard anything.”

“It’s been…well, it’s not really like Hogwarts anymore,” said Neville, the smile fading from his face as he spoke. “Do you know about the Carrows?”

“Those two Death Eaters who teach here?”

“They do more than teach,” said Neville. “They’re in charge of all discipline. They like punishment, the Carrows.”

“Like Umbridge?” Harry asked, 

“Nah, they make her look tame. The other teachers are all supposed to refer us to the Carrows if we do anything wrong. They don’t, though, if they can avoid it. You can tell they all hate them as much as we do.”

“Amycus, the bloke, he teaches what used to be Defense Against the Dark Arts, except now it’s just the Dark Arts. We’re supposed to practice the Cruciatus Curse on people who’ve earned detentions –”

“ _ What?” _

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the Doctor’s united voices echoed up and down the passage.

“Yeah,” said Neville. “That’s how I got this one,” he pointed at a particularly deep gash in his cheek, “I refused to do it. Some people are into it, though; Crabbe and Goyle love it. First time they’ve ever been top in anything, I expect.

“Alecto, Amycus’s sister, teaches Muggle Studies, which is compulsory for everyone. We’ve all got to listen to her explain how Muggles are like animals, stupid and dirty, and how they drove wizards into hiding by being vicious toward them, and how the natural order is being reestablished. I got this one,” he indicated another slash on his face, “for asking her how much Muggle blood she and her brother have got.”

“Blimey, Neville,” said Ron, “there’s a time and a place for getting a smart mouth.”

“You didn’t hear her,” said Neville. “You wouldn’t have stood it either. The thing is, it helps when people stand up to them, it gives everyone hope. I used to notice that when you did it, Harry.”

“But they’ve used you as a knife sharpener,” said Ron, wincing slightly as they passed a lamp and Neville’s injuries were thrown into even greater relief.

Neville shrugged.

“Doesn’t Matter. They don’t want to spill too much pure blood, so they’ll torture us a bit if we’re mouthy but they won’t actually kill us. The only people in real danger are the ones whose friends and relatives on the outside are giving trouble. They get taken hostage. Old Xeno Lovegood was getting a bit too outspoken in  _ The Quibbler _ , so they dragged Luna off the train on the way back for Christmas.

“Neville, she’s all right, we’ve seen her –”

“Yeah, I know, she managed to get a message to me.” 

From his pocket, he pulled a golden coin that must have been enchanted to convey messages.

“These have been great,” said Neville, beaming, “The Carrows never rumbled how we were  communicating, it drove them mad. We used to sneak out at night and put graffiti on the walls:  _ Dumbledore’s Army, Still Recruiting _ , stuff like that. Snape hated it.”

“You  _ used to?”  _  said Harry, who had noticed the past tense.

“Well, it got more difficult as time went on,” said Neville. “We lost Luna at Christmas, and Ginny never came back after Easter, and the three of us were sort of the leaders. The Carrows seemed to know I was behind a lot of it, so they started coming down on me hard, and then Michael Corner went and got caught releasing a first-year they’d chained up, and they tortured him pretty badly. That scared people off.”

“No kidding,” muttered Ron, as the passage began to slope upward.

“Yeah, well, I couldn’t ask people to go through what Michael did, so we dropped those kinds of stunts. But we were still fighting, doing underground stuff, right up until a couple weeks ago. That’s when they decided there was only one way to stop me, I suppose, and they went for Gran.”

“They  _ what?”  _ said Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the Doctor together.

“Yeah,” said Neville, panting a little now, because the passage was climbing so steeply, “well, you can see their thinking. It had worked really well, kidnapping kids to force their relatives to behave, I s’pose it was only a matter of time before they did it the other way around. Thing was,” he faced them, grinning, “they bit off a bit more than they could chew with Gran. Little old witch living alone, they probably thought they didn’t need to send anyone particularly powerful. Anyway,” Neville laughed, ‘Dawlish is still in St. Mungo’s and Gran’s on the run. She sent me a letter,” he clapped a hand to the breast pocket of his robes, “telling me she was proud of me, that I’m my parents’ son, and to keep it up.”

“Cool,” said Ron.

“Yeah,” said Neville happily. “Only thing was, once they realized they had no hold over me, they decided Hogwarts could do without me after all. I don’t know whether they were planning to kill me or send me to Azkaban; either way, I knew it was time to disappear.”

“But,” said Ron, looking thoroughly confused, “aren’t – aren’t we heading straight back into Hogwarts?”

“‘Course,” said Neville. “You’ll see. We’re here.”

They turned a corner and there ahead of them was the end of the passage. Another short flight of steps led to a door just like the one hidden behind Ariana’s portrait. Neville pushed it open and climbed through. As the Doctor followed Neville, Harry, Ron, and Hermione, he heard Neville call out to the unseen people:

“Look who it is! Didn’t I tell you?” The Doctor emerged to hear several screams and yells: “HARRY!” “It’s Potter, it’s POTTER!” “Ron!” “ _ Hermione!” _ The Doctor slid out, standing in the corner, not wanting to draw too much attention to himself. 

The room was big, it looked much like the interior of a particularly sumptuous tree house, not unlike a large ship’s cabin. Multicoloured hammock were strung from the ceiling and from a balcony that ran around the dark wood-paneled and windowless walls, which were covered in bright tapestry hangings: There was the gold Gryffindor lion, emblazoned on scarlet; the black badger of Hufflepuff, set against yellow; and the bronze eagle of Ravenclaw, on blue. There were bulging bookcases, a few broomsticks propped against the walls, and in the corner, a large wooden-cased wireless.

“Where are we?” Harry asked,

“Room of Requirement, of course!” said Neville, “Surpassed itself, hasn’t it? The Carrows were chasing me, and I knew I had just one chance for a hideout: I managed to get through the door and this is what I found! Well, it wasn’t exactly like this when I arrived, it was a load smaller, there was only one hammock and just Gryffindor hangings. But it’s expanded as more and more of the D.A. have arrived.”

“And the Carrows can’t get in?” asked Harry, looking around,

“No,” said a boy, his face was bruised and puffy. “It’s a proper hideout, as long as one of us stays in here, they can’t get at us, the door won’t open. It’s all down to Neville. He really  _ gets _ this room. You’ve got to ask it for  _ exactly  _ what you need – like, ‘I don’t want any Carrow supporters to be able to get in’ – and it’ll do it for you! You’ve just got to make sure you close the loopholes! Neville’s the man!”

“It’s quite straightforward, really,” said Neville modestly. “I’d been in here about a day and a half, and getting really hungry, and wishing I could get something to eat, and that’s when the passage to the Hog’s Head opened up. I went through it and met Aberforth. He’s been providing us with food, because for some reason, that’s the one thing the room doesn’t really do.”

“Yeah, well, food’s one of the five exceptions to Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration,” said Ron to general astonishment. 

“So we’ve been hiding out here for nearly two weeks,” said the boy from before, “and it just makes more hammocks every time we need them, and it even sprouted a pretty good bathroom once girls started turning up –”

“– and thought they’d quite like to wash, yes,” supplied a girl,

“Tell us what you’ve been up to, though,” another boy said, “There’ve been so many rumors, we’ve been trying to keep up with you on  _ Potterwatch _ .” He pointed at the wireless. “You didn’t break into Gringotts?”

“They did!” said Neville. “And the dragon’s true too!”

There was a smattering of applause and a few whoops; Ron took a bow.

“What were you after,” asked the bruised boy eagerly.

Before anyone could say anything, the Doctor saw Harry spin around, turning his back on the room, his hand jumping to his scar. The Doctor ran toward him, subtly sliding his hands onto Harry’s temples.

Voldemort was standing inside a ruined stone shack, and the rotting floorboards were ripped apart at his feet, a disinterred golden box lay open and empty beside the hole, and Voldemort’s scream echoed across the land.

The Doctor threw Voldemort out of Harry’s head, they made eye contact, and Harry spun back around, “Right, we need to get going.”

“What are we going to do, then, Harry?” Asked the bruised boy. “What’s the plan?”

“Plan?” repeated Harry, the Doctor held onto him, although it wasn’t his head, it was enough connection to keep Voldemort from invading Harry’s head before they could get out of the situation. “Well,” Harry said, “There’s something we – Ron, Hermione, the Doctor, and I – need to do, and then we’ll get out of here.”

Nobody was laughing our whooping anymore. Neville looked confused.

“What d’you mean, ‘get out of here’?”

“We haven’t come back to stay,” said Harry, “There’s something important we need to do –”

“What is it?”

“I – I can’t tell you.”

There was a ripple of muttering at this: Neville’s brows contracted.

“Why can’t you tell us? It’s something to do with fighting You-Know-Who, right?”

“Well, yeah –”

“Then we’ll help you.”

The other students were nodding, some enthusiastically, others solemnly. A couple of them rose from their chairs to demonstrate their willingness for immediate action. 

“You don’t understand.” Harry said, “We – we can’t tell you. We’ve got to do it – alone.”

“Why?” asked Neville, 

“We’ve been ordered,” the Doctor said, trying to save Harry from having to explain, “Dumbledore gave us a mission and we’re not aloud to tell anyone.”

“Who are you?” The bruised boy asked,

“I’m the Doctor,” The Doctor said, “I’m a friend of Harry’s.” Everyone looked to Harry, who nodded. With his confirmation, they seemed to accept the Doctor, then, Neville said, 

“But we’re his army, Dumbledore’s Army. We were all in it together, we’ve been keeping it going while you all have been off on your own –”

“It hasn’t exactly been a picnic, mate,” said Ron.

“I never said it had, but I don’t see why you can’t trust us. Everyone in this room’s been fighting and they’ve been driven in here because the Carrows were hunting them down. Everyone in here’s proven they’re loyal to Dumbledore – loyal to you.”

“Harry,” The Doctor said, but before he could continue, the tunnel door opened behind them, and Luna and Dean came through,

“We got your message, Neville! Hello you four, I thought you must be here!”

The bruised boy gave a roar of delight and ran to hug Dean.  
“Hi everyone!” said Luna happily. “Oh, it’s great to be back!”

“Luna,” said Harry distractedly, “What are you doing here? How did you –?”

“I sent for her,” said Neville, holding up the coin. “I promised her and Ginny that if you turned up, I’d let them know. We all thought that if you came back, it would mean revolution. That we were going to overthrow Snape and the Carrows.”

“Of course that’s what it means,” said Luna brightly. “Isn’t it, Harry? We’re going to fight them out of Hogwarts?”

“No,” The Doctor said, “We’re here to find something,” 

“You’re going to leave us in the mess?” Demanded an older boy,

“No,” The Doctor said, “No, this will help us take down You-Know-Who.”

“Then let us help!” Said Neville angrily, “We want to be a part of it!” 

There was another noise behind them, and the Doctor turned. Ginny was now climbing through the hole in the wall, closely followed by Fred, George, and two others the Doctor didn’t recognize. 

“Aberforth’s getting a bit annoyed,” said Fred, raising his hand to answer several cries of greeting. “He wants a kip, and his bar’s turned into a railway station.”

“So, what’s the plan, Harry?” said George, 

“Right, a plan,” The Doctor said, “Right, so, we’re looking for an object, it could be anything, but chances are, it’s going to be small, important, possibly connected to the Ravenclaw house, something not seen for a long time, does anyone know of an object like that?”

“Well, there’s the Lost Diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw.” Luna said, 

“Yeah, but the lost diadem,” said Michael Corner, rolling his eyes, “is  _ lost _ , Luna. That’s sort of the point.”

“That sounds brilliant, Luna,” The Doctor said, “I’ve found more lost things than that.”  
“If you’d like to see what the diadem’s supposed to look like, I could take you up to our common room and show you, Doctor? Ravenclaw’s wearing it in her statue.”

“Brilliant, Harry, how about you come with us.” The Doctor said, Harry nodded, “Right, how do we get out of here?” he asked Neville,

“Over here.”

He led the Doctor, Harry, and Luna to a corner, where a small cupboard opened onto a steep staircase.

“It comes out somewhere different every day, so they’ve never been able to find it,” he said, “Only trouble is, we never know exactly where we’re going to end up when we go out. Be careful, they’re always patrolling the corridors at night.”

“See you in a bit,” Harry said, and they hurried up the staircase. It was long and lit by torches, they turned corners in unexpected places. At last, they reached what appeared to be solid wall.

“Get under here,” Harry told Luna and the Doctor, pulling out the Invisibility Cloak and throwing it over them. It barely fit the three of them, but no one would notice their feet in the darkness. The Doctor gave the wall a little push. 

It melted away at his touch and they slipped outside: The Doctor glanced back and saw that it had resealed itself at once. They were standing in a dark corridor: Harry pulled Luna and the Doctor back into the shadows, fumbling in the pouch around his neck, and took out the Marauder’s Map. He located the three dots of himself, Luna, and the Doctor, but then looked curiously at the Doctor, “You’re name’s not on here…Just some weird symbols…”

“That’s my name in my language, it doesn’t translate. There are some sounds you lot just can’t make.”

“But, I thought your name was just ‘Doctor,’”

“That’s the name I chose.”

“What’s your real name?” The Doctor hesitated,   
“Come on, we’ve got to get moving.”

They moved through squares of moonlight upon the floor, past suits of armor whose helmets creaked at the sound of their soft footsteps. 

“This way,” Luna whispered, pulling Harry and the Doctor toward a spiral staircase. 

They climbed the dizzying stairs until they reached a door. There was no handle and no keyhole: nothing but a plain expanse of aged wood, and a bronze knocker in the shape of an eagle.

“Luna reached out a pale hand, which looked eerie floating in midair, unconnected to arm or body. She knocked once, and in the silence it sounded like a cannon blast. At once the beak of the eagle opened, but instead of a bird’s call, a soft musical voice said, “Which came first, the phoenix or the flame?”

“Hmm…What do you think Harry? DOctor?” said Luna, looking thoughtful.

“Well,” The Doctor said, it’s a cycle, but I’d say that the flame came first because the phoenix evolved from the Siro, who were born in flame, and only became immortal after they became phoenix, so if the very first phoenix was born in the flame, the flame would come first.”

“Well reasoned,” said the voice, and the door swung open.

The deserted Ravenclaw common room was a wide, circular room with graceful arched windows puncturing the walls hung with blue-and-bronze silks. The ceiling was domed and painted with stars, which were echoed in the midnight-blue carpet. The Doctor smiled up at them. There were tables, chairs, and bookcases, and in the niche opposite the doors stood a tall statue of white marble.

Rowena Ravenclaw stood beside a door, the Doctor strode up to the statue. She seemed to look back at him with a quizzical half smile on her face, beautiful yet fierce. A delicate-looking circlet had been reproduced in marble on top of her head. There were tiny words etched into it. The Doctor stepped out from under the cloak, as did Harry, climbing up onto Ravenclaw’s plinth. It read:

_ “‘Wit beyond measure is man’s greatest treasure.’” _

“Which makes you pretty skint, witless,” said a cackling voice.

The Doctor spun around, jumping off the plinth. The sloping-shouldered figure of Alecto Carrow was standing before him, and even as the Doctor raised his wand, she pressed a stubby forefinger to the skull and snake branded on her forearm.


	27. The Sacking of Severus Snape

The moment the finger touched the Mark, the Doctor saw Harry fall to his knees his hands jumping to his scar. There was suddenly a loud _bang_ , and Luna took off the Cloak, her wand out.   
“I’ve never Stunned anyone except in our D.A. lessons,” she said, sounding mildly interested. “That was noisier than I thought it would be.”

And sure enough, the ceiling had begun to tremble. Scurrying, echoing footsteps were growing louder from behind the door leading to the dormitories: Luna’s spell had woken Ravenclaws sleeping above.

The Doctor quickly threw the Cloak over the three of them just as the door opened and a stream of Ravenclaws, all in their nightclothes, flooded into the common room. There were gasps and cries of surprise as they saw Alecto lying there, unconscious. Slowly, they shuffled in around her, a savage beast that might wake at any moment and attack them. Then one brave little first-year darted up to her and prodded her backside with his big toe.

“I think she might be dead!” he shouted with delight.

“Oh, look,” whispered Luna happily, as the Ravenclaws crowded in around Alecto. “They’re pleased!”

“Yeah…great…” The Doctor noticed Harry fading, losing himself to his scar, 

“We’ve got to get out of here,” The Doctor said, pulling them to the edge of the room, when there suddenly was a rap on the common room door and every Ravenclaw froze. The Doctor heard the soft, musical voice that issued from the eagle door knocker: “Where do Vanished objects go?”

“I dunno, do I? Shut it!” Snarled an uncouth voice that must have been Amycus Carrow. “Alecto?  _ Alecto?  _ Are you there? Have you got him? Open the door!”

The ravenclaws were whispering amongst themselves, terrified. Then, without warning, there came a series of loud bangs reminiscent of gunshots. 

“ _ ALECTO!  _ If he comes, and we haven’t got Potter – d’you want to go the same way as the Malfoys? ANSWER ME!” Amycus bellowed, shaking the door for all he was worth, but still it did not open. The Ravenclaws were all backing away, and some of the most frightened began scampering back up the staircase to their beds. Then, just as the Doctor thought he might blast the door open, a voice rang out beyond the door.

“May I ask what you are doing, Professor Carrow?”

“Trying – to get – through this damned – door!” shouted Amycus. “Go and get Flitwick! Get him to open it, now!”

“But isn’t your sister in there?” asked the woman, “Didn’t Professor Flitwick let her in earlier this evening, at your urgent request? Perhaps she could open the door for you? Then you needn't wake up half the castle.”

“She ain’t answering, you old besom!  _ You _ open it! Garn! Do it now!”

“Certainly, if you wish it,” said the woman with awful coldness. THere was a genteel tap of the knocker and the musical voice asked again,

“Where do Vanished objects go?”

“Into nonbeing, which is to say, everything,” replied the woman,

“Nicely phrased,” replied the eagle door knocker, and the door swung open. 

The few Ravenclaws who had remained behind sprinted for the stairs as Amycus burst over the threshold, brandishing his wand. Hunched like his sister, he had a pallid, doughy fae and tiny eyes, which fell at once on Alecto, sprawled motionless on the floor. He let out a yell of fury and fear.

“What’ve they done, the little whelps?” he screamed. “I’ll Cruciate the lot of ‘em till they tell me who did it – and what’s the Dark Lord going to say?” He shrieked, standing over his sister and smacking himself on the forehead with his fist. “We haven’t got him, and they’ve gorn and killed her!”

“She’s only Stunned,” said the woman impatiently, who had stooped down to examine Alecto. “She’ll be perfectly all right.”

“No she bludering well won’t!” Bellowed Amycus. “Not after the Dark Lord gets hold of her! She’s gorn and sent for him, I felt me Mark burn, and he thinks we’ve got Potter!”

“‘Got Potter’?” said the woman sharply. “What do you mean, ‘got Potter’?”

“He told us Potter might try and get inside Ravenclaw Tower. And to send for him if we caught him!”

“Why would Harry Potter try to get inside Ravenclaw Tower? Potter belongs in my House!” It was then that this familiar-looking woman clicked in the Doctor’s head, he’d done some reading about her. Despite his limited knowledge of the Wizarding World, there was one woman he couldn’t avoid reading about; Minerva McGonagall, head of Gryffindor House, eventual Headmistress of Hogwarts.

“We was told he might come in here!” said Carrow. “I dunno why, do I?”

Professor McGonagall stood up and her eyes swept the room. Twice they passed right over the place where Harry, the Doctor, and Luna stood. 

“We can push it off on the kids,” said Amycus, his face suddenly crafty. “Yeah, that’s what we’ll do. We’ll say Alecto was ambushed by the kids up there” – he looked up at the starry ceiling toward the dormitories – “and we’ll say they forced her to press her Mark, and that’s why he got the false alarm…He can punish them. Couple of kids more or less, what’s the difference?” The Doctor felt a burning hatred in his hearts.

“Only the difference between truth and lies, courage and cowardice,” said Professor McGonagall, who had turned pale, “A difference, in short, which you and your sister seem unable to appreciate. But let me make one thing very clear. You are not going to pass off your many ineptitudes on the students of Hogwarts. I shall not permit it.”

“Excuse me?”

Amycus moved forward until he was offensively close to Professor McGonagall, his face within inches of hers. She refused to back away, but looked down at him as if he were something disgusting she had found stuck to a lavatory seat.  
“It’s not a case of what _you’ll_ permit, Minerva McGonagall. Your time’s over. It’s us what’s in charge here now, and you’ll back me up or you’ll pay the price.”

And he spat in her face.

Suddenly, Harry ripped the Cloak off himself, raised his wand, and said, “You shouldn’t have done that.”  
As Amycus spun around, Harry shouted, “ _Crucio!”_

“Harry!” The Doctor yelled in protest, but the Death Eater was already lifted off his feet. He writhed through the air like a drowning man, thrashing and howling in pain, and then, with a crunch and a shattering of glass, he smashed into the front of a bookcase and crumbled, insensible, to the floor.

“I see what Bellatrix meant,” said Harry, “You need to really mean it.”

“Potter!” whispered Professor McGonagall, clutching her heart. “Potter – you’re here! What –? How –?” She struggled to pull herself together. “Potter, that was foolish!”

“He spat at you,” said Harry.

“Potter, I – that was very – very  _ gallant  _ of you – but don’t you realize –?”

“Yeah, I do,” Harry assured her, “Professor McGonagall, Voldemort’s on the way.”

“Oh, are we allowed to say the name now?” asked Luna with an air of interest, pulling the Invisibility Cloak off the Invisibility Cloak. This appearance of two more outlaws seemed to overwhelm Professor McGonagall, who staggered backward and fell into a nearby chair, clutching at the neck of her old tartan dressing gown. 

“I don’t think it makes any difference what we call him,” The Doctor said, “He already knows we here.”

“You must flee,” whispered Professor McGonagall. “Now, Potter, as quickly as you can!”

“I can’t,” said Harry. “There’s something I need to do. Professor, do you know where the diadem of Ravenclaw is?”

“The d-diadem of Ravenclaw? Of course not – hasn’t it been lost for centuries?” She sat up a little straighter. “Potter, it was madness, utter madness, for you to enter this castle –”

“We had to,” The Doctor supplied, “There’s something here we have to find.”

There was a sound of movement, of clinking glass: Amycus was coming round. Before Harry, Luna, or the Doctor could act, Professor McGonagall rose to her feet, pointed her wand at the groggy Death Eater, and said, “ _ Imperio. _ ”

Amycus got up, walked over to his sister, picked up her wand, then shuffled obediently to Professor McGonagall and handed it over along with his own. Then he lay down on the floor beside Alecto. Professor McGonagall waved her wand again, and a length of shimmering silver rope appeared out of thin air and snaked around the Carrows, binding them tightly together.

“Potter,” said Professor McGonagall, turning to face Harry, “if He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named really does indeed know that you’re here –”

As she said it, the Doctor saw Harry wavering, he clutched his Harry’s shoulder to keep him from falling down. 

“Potter, are you all right?” said Professor McGonagall, 

“Time’s running out, Voldemort’s getting nearer. Professor, I’m acting on Dumbledore’s orders, I must find what he wanted me to find! But we’ve got to get the students out while I’m searching the castle – It’s me Voldemort wants, but he won’t care about killing a few more or less, not now –”  
“You’re acting on _Dumbledore’s_ orders?” Professor McGonagall repeated with a look of dawning wonder. Then she drew herself up to her fullest height.

“We shall secure the school against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named while you search for this – this object.”

“Is that possible?”

“I think so,” said Professor McGonagall dryly, “we teachers are rather good at magic, you know. I am sure we will be able to hold him off for a while if we all put our best efforts into it. Of course, something must be done about Professor Snape –” 

“Let me –”

“– and if Hogwarts is about to enter a state of siege, with the Dark Lord at the gates, it would indeed be advisable to take as many innocent people out of the way as possible. With the Floo Network under observation, and Apparition impossible within the grounds –”

“There’s a way,” said Harry quickly, explaining the passageway leading into the Hog’s Head.

“Potter, we’re talking about hundreds of students –”

“I know, Professor, but if Voldemort and the Death Eaters are concentrating on the school boundaries they won't be interested in anyone who’s Disapparating out of the Hog’s Head.”

“There’s something in that,” she agreed. She pointed her wand at the Carrows, and a silver net fell upon their bound bodies, tied itself around them, and hoisted them into the air, where they dangled beneath the blue-and-gold ceiling. “Come. We must alert the other Heads of House. You’d better put that Cloak back on.”   
She marched toward the door, and as she did so she raised her wand. From the tip burst three silver cats with spectacle markings around their eyes. The Patronuses ran sleekly ahead, filling the spiral staircase with silvery light, as Professor McGonagall, Harry, the Doctor, and Luna hurried back down.

Along the corridors they raced, and one by one the Patronuses left them; Professor McGonagall’s tartan dressing gown rustled over the floor, and Harry, the Doctor, and Luna jogged behind her under the Cloak.

They had descended two more floors when another set of quiet footsteps joined theirs. The Professor halted, raising her wand and said, “Who’s there?”

“It is I,” said a low voice,

“Snape.” The Doctor heard Harry whisper under his breath as Snape spoke,  
“Where are the Carrows?”

“Wherever you told them to be, I expect, Severus,” Professor McGonagall said.

Snape stepped nearer, and his eyes flitted over Professor McGonagall into the air around her, as if he knew that the others were there. The Doctor noticed Harry hold up his wand, ready to duel if necessary.

“I was under the impression,” said Snape, “that Alecto had apprehended an intruder.”

“Really?’ said Professor McGonagall. “And what gave you that impression?”

Snape made a slight flexing movement to his left arm, where the Dark Mark was branded into his skin.

“Oh, but naturally,” said Professor McGonagall. “You Death Eaters have your own private means of communication, I forgot.”

Snape pretended not to have heard her. His eyes were still probing the air all about her, and he was moving gradually closer, with an air of hardly noticing what he was doing.

“I did not know that it was your night to patrol the corridors Minerva.”

“You have some objection?”

“I wonder what could have brought you out of your bed at this late hour?”

“I thought I heard a disturbance,” said Professor McGonagall.

“Really? But all seems calm.”

Snape looked into her eyes.

“Have you seen Harry Potter, Minerva? Because if you have, I must insist –”

Professor McGonagall moved faster than the Doctor believed: Her wand slashed through the air and for a split second Harry thought that Snape must crumple, unconscious, but the swiftness of his Shield Charm was such that McGonagall was thrown off balance. She brandished her wand at a torch on the wall and it flew out of its bracket. The Doctor dragged Harry and Luna out of the way of the flames, which became a ring of fire that filled the corridor and flew like a lasso at Snape –

Then it was no longer fire, but a great black serpent that McGonagall blasted to smoke, which re-formed and solidified in seconds to become as warm of pursuing daggers: Snape avoided them only by forcing a suit of armor in front of him, and with echoing clangs the daggers sank, one after another, into its breast –

“Minerva!” said a squeaky voice, behind them, the Doctor saw three more professors sprinting up the corridor toward them in their night-clothes.

“No!” Squealed the smaller man, raising his wand, “You’ll do no more murder at Hogwarts!”

The spell hit the suit of armor behind which Snape had taken shelter: With a clatter it came to life. Snape struggle free of the crushing arms and sent it flying back toward his attackers: Harry, Luna, and the Doctor had to dive sideways to avoid it as it smashed into the wall and shattered. When the Doctor looked up again, Snape was in full flight, McGonagall and the three other teachers all thundering after him: He hurtled through a classroom door and, moments later, he heard McGonagall cry, “Coward!  _ COWARD!”  _

“What’s happened, what’s happened?” asked Luna, running after the Doctor who had taken off running, Harry right behind. 

“He jumped,” said Professor McGonagall as the Doctor reached the room, the window was smashed.

“You mean he’s  _ dead?” _ Harry asked, sprinting to the window, ignoring the other professors’ yells of shock at his sudden appearance.

“No, he’s not dead,” said McGonagall bitterly. “Unlike Dumbledore, he was still carrying a wand…and he seems to have learned a few tricks from his master.”

The Doctor saw in the distance a large, batlike shape flying through the darkness toward the perimeter wall.

“Professor!” Harry suddenly shouted, his hands at his forehead. “Professor, we’ve got to barricade the school, he’s coming now!”

“Very well. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is coming,” she told the other teachers, who gasped, “Potter has work to do in the castle on Dumbledore’s orders. We need to put in place every protection of which we are capable while Potter does what he needs to do.”

“You realize, of course, that nothing we do will be able to keep out You-Know-Who indefinitely?” Squeaked a professor,

“But we can hold him up,” said another.

“Thank you, Pomona,” said Professor McGonagall, and between the two witches there passed a look of grim understanding. “I suggest we establish basic protection around the place, then gather our students and meet in the Great Hall. Most must be evacuated, though if any of those who are over age wish to stay and fight, I think they ought to be given the chance.”

“Agreed,” said Pomona, already hurrying toward the door. “I shall meet you in the Great Hall in twenty minutes with my House.”

And as she jogged out of sight, they could hear her muttering, “Tentacula. Devil’s Snare. And Snargaluff pods…yes, I’d like to see the Death Eaters fighting those.”

“I can act from here,” said the small professor, and although he could barely see out of it, he pointed his wand through the smashed window and started muttering incantations of great complexity.

“Professor,” Harry said, approaching the small wizard, “Professor Flitwick, I’m sorry to interrupt, but this is important. Have you got any idea where the diadem of Ravenclaw is?”

“ _ – Protego Horribilis –  _ the diadem of Ravenclaw?” Squeaked Flitwick. “A little extra wisdom never goes amiss, Potter, but I hardly think it would be meant use in  _ this  _ situation!”

“I only meant – do you know where it is? Have you ever seen it?”

“Seen it? Nobody has seen it in living memory! Long since lost, boy!” The Doctor suddenly grabbed Harry’s wrist, 

“Harry, living memory. Aren’t there ghosts in this castle?” Harry stared at him,

“That’s – yes! Who –”

“STUDENTS OUT OF BED!” an older man hobbled into view, “STUDENTS IN THE CORRIDORS!”  
“They’re supposed to be, you blithering idiot!” shouted Professor McGonagall. “Now go and do something constructive! Find Peeves!”

“P-Peeves?” stammered the man, 

“Yes,  _ Peeves _ , you fool,  _ Peeves _ ! Haven’t you been complaining about him for a quarter of a century? Go and fetch him, at once!” The man hobbled away and McGonagall turned to the Doctor, Harry, and Luna, “No, you had better return to your friends and bring them to the Great Hall – I shall rouse the other Gryffindors.”

They sprinted through corridors and around corners. As they reached the Room of Requirement, the Doctor found it was far more crowded than when they had last been in there. Kingsley, Lupin, Bill, Fleur, Mr. And Mrs. Weasley, as well as four other people the Doctor didn’t realize were looking up at them,

“Harry, what’s happening?” said Lupin, meeting them at the foot of the stairs.

“Voldemort’s on his way, they’re barricading the school – Snape’s run for it – What are you doing here? How did you know?”

“We sent messages to the rest of Dumbledore’s Army,” Fred explained. “You couldn’t expect everyone to miss the fun, and the D.A. Let the Order of the Phoenix know, and it all kind of snowballed.”  
“What first, Harry?” called George. “What’s going on?”

“They’re evacuating the younger kids and everyone’s meeting in the Great Hall to get organized,” Harry said. “We’re fighting.”

There was a great roar and a surge toward the foot of the stairs; the Doctor, Luna, and Harry pressed back against the wall as they ran past him, the mingled members of the Order of the Phoenix and Dumbledore’s Army, along with some others the Doctor didn’t know, all with their wands drawn, heading up into the main castle.

“Come on, Luna,” Dean called as he passed, holding out his free hand; she took it and followed him back up the stairs.

The crowd was thinning: Only a little knot of people remained blow in the Room of Requirement, the Doctor and Harry joined them. Mrs. Weasley was struggling with Ginny. Around them stood Lupin, Fred, George, Bill and Fleur.

“You’re underage!” Mrs. Weasley shouted at her daughter as the Doctor and Harry approached. “I won’t permit it! The boys, yes, but you, you’ve got to go home!:

“I won’t!”

Ginny’s hair flew as she pulled her arm out of her mother’s grip. 

“I’m in Dumbledore’s Army –”

“A teenagers’ gang!”

“A teenagers’ gang that’s about to take him on, which no one else has dared to do!” said Fred.

“She’s sixteen!” shouted Mrs. Weasley. “She’s not old enough! What you two were thinking, bringing her with you –”

Fred and George looked slightly ashamed of themselves.

“Mum’s right, Ginny,” said Bill gently. “You can’t do this. Everyone underage will have to leave, it’s only right.”

“I can’t go home!” Ginny shouted, angry tears sparkling in her eyes. “My whole family’s here, I can’t stand waiting there alone and not knowing and –”

There was a scuffling and a great thump: Someone else had clambered out of the tunnel, overbalanced slightly, and fallen. He pulled himself up on the nearest chair and looked around through lopsided horn-rimmed glasses, the Doctor recognized him from a picture he had seen at the Weasley’s, he said, “Am I too late? Has it started? I only just found out, so I – I –”

Percy Weasley spluttered into silence. Evidently he had not expected to run into most of his family. There was a long moment of astonishment, broken by Fleur turning to Lupin and saying, in a wildly transparent attempt to break the tension, “So – ‘ow eez leetle Teddy?”

Lupin blinked at her, startled. The silence between the Weasleys seemed to be solidifying like ice.

“I – oh yes – he’s fine!” Lupin said loudly. “Yes, Tonks is with him – at her mother’s –” 

Percy and the other Weasleys were still staring at one another, frozen.

“Here, I’ve got a picture!” Lupin shouted, pulling a photograph from inside his jacket and showing it to Fleur and Harry, who saw a tiny baby with a tuft of bright turquoise hair, waving fat fists at the tiny camera.

“I was a fool!” Percy roared, so loudly that Lupin nearly dropped his photograph. “I was an idiot, I was a pompous prat, I was a – a –”

“Ministry-loving, family-disowning, power-hungry, moron,” said Fred.

Percy swallowed.

“Yes, I was!”

“Well, you can’t say fairer than that,” said Fred, holding out his hand to Percy.

Mrs. Weasley burst into tears. She ran forward, pushed Fred aside, and pulled Percy into a strangling hug, while he patted her on the back, his eyes on his father.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” Percy said.

Mr. Weasley blinked rather rapidly, then he too hurried to hug his son.

“What made you see sense, Perce?” inquired George.

“It’s been coming on for a while,” said Percy, mopping his eyes under his glasses with a corner of his traveling cloak. “But I had to find a way out and it’s not so easy at the Ministry, they’re all imprisoning traitors all the time. I managed to make contact with Aberforth and he tipped me off ten minutes ago that Hogwarts was going to make a fight of it, so here I am.”

“Well, we do look to our prefect to take a lead at times such as these,” said George in an imitation of Percy’s most pompous manner. “Now let’s get upstairs and fight, or all the good Death Eaters’ll be taken.

“So, you’re my sister-in-law now?” said Percy, shaking hands with Fleur as they hurried off toward the staircase with Bill, Fred, and George.

“Ginny!” barked Mrs. Weasley. 

Ginny had been attempting, under cover of the reconciliation, to sneak upstairs too.  
“What if she stayed in here.” The Doctor suggested, “She’ll never be found, but she doesn’t have to be alone at home.” The Doctor shot Ginny a look that told her to keep quiet, and Mrs. Weasley thought for a moment, 

“I – I suppose that’ll work, just, stay down here!”

“Harry, a word,” The Doctor said, loud enough to send the message to Lupin and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley to leave. Once they’d left, instead of looking to Harry, the Doctor grinned at Ginny,

“As if we were going to leave you behind.” Ginny grinned back mischievously,

“But –” Harry began,

“Come on, we don’t have to tell her everything, but I’m not leaving her behind.”

“Where’s Ron and Hermione?” Harry asked, 

“They said something about a bathroom.” Ginny said, “Not long after you left.”

“A bathroom?” Harry strode across the room to an open door leading off the Room of Requirement and checked the bathroom beyond. It was empty.

“Are you sure they said bath –”

But then, Harry’s hands flew to his scar as he dropped to his knees, the Doctor ran to his side, fingers on temples, and dove into his mind.

Voldemort was looking through the high wrought-iron gates with winged boars on pillars at either side, looking through the dark grounds of Hogwarts toward the castle, which was ablaze with lights. Nagini lay draped over his shoulders. 


	28. The Battle of Hogwarts

The enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall was dark and scattered with stars, and below it the four long house tables were lined with disheveled students, some in traveling cloaks, others in dressing gowns. Here and there shone the pearly white figures of school ghosts. Every eye, living and dead, was fixed upon Professor McGonagall, who was speaking from the raised platform at the top of the Hall. Behind her stood the remaining teachers and the members of the Order of the Phoenix who had arrived to fight.

“…evacuation will be overseen by Mr. Filch and Madam Pomfrey. Prefects, when I give the word, you will organize your House and take your charges, in an orderly fashion, to the evacuation point.” 

Many of the students looked terrified. However, as the Doctor skirted the walls, scanning the Gryffindor table for Ron and Hermione, a Hufflepuff boy shouted, “And what if we want to stay and fight?”

There was a smattering of applause.

“If you are of age, you may stay,” said Professor McGonagall.

“What about our things?” called a girl at the Ravenclaw table. “Our trunks, our owls?”

“We have no time to collect possessions,” said Professor McGonagall. “The important thing is to get you out of here safely.”

“Where’s Professor Snape?” shouted a girl from the Slytherin table.

“He has, to use the common phrase, done a bunk,” replied Professor McGonagall, and a great cheer erupted from the Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws.   
“What’s that mean?” The Doctor quietly asked Ginny, who was hidden under the Cloak, 

“It means to like, run away under incriminating circumstances.”

“Oh.” 

“We have already placed protection around the castle,” Professor McGonagall was saying, “but it is unlikely to hold for very long unless we reinforce it. I must ask you, therefore, to move quickly and calmly, and do as your prefects –”

But her final words were drowned as a different voice echoed throughout the Hall. It was high, cold, and clear: Not even the Doctor could tell from where it came. 

“I know that you are preparing to fight.” There were screams amongst the students, some of whom clutched each other, looking around in terror for the source of the sound. “Your efforts are futile. You cannot fight me. I do not want to kill you. I have great respect for the teachers of Hogwarts. I do not want to spill magical blood. Give me Harry Potter and none shall be harmed. Give me Harry Potter, and I shall leave the school untouched. Give me Harry Potter and you will be rewarded. You have until midnight.”

The silence swallowed them, every head turned to Harry. Then, a figure rose from the Slytherin table, she raised a shaking arm and screamed, “But he’s there! Potter’s  _ there! _ Someone grab him!”

Before Harry could say anything, there was a massive movement. The Gryffindors in front of him, as well as the Doctor, rose, standing between Harry the Slytherins, almost the same moment, the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs both joined them. Wands were pulled from cloaks, and everyone stood, facing the Slytherins.

“Thank you, Miss Parkinson,” said Professor McGonagall in a clipped voice. “You will leave the Hall first with Mr. Filch. If the rest of your house could follow.

The Doctor heard the grinding of benches and then the sound of the Slytherins trooping out on the other side of the Hall.  
“Ravenclaws, follow on!” cried Professor McGonagall.

Slowly, the room emptied, leaving a deserted Slytherin table, a number of older Ravenclaws, even more Hufflepuffs, and half of the Gryffindors remained in their seats, necessitating Professor McGonagall’s descent from the teachers’ platform to chivvy the underage on their way.

“Absolutely not, Creevy, go!  _ And  _ you, Peakes!”

“Listen, Hermione and Ron are clearly doing something, we need to get moving, we’ll find them later.” The Doctor said, pulling Harry and an invisible Ginny out of the room, 

“Right, ghosts.” Harry said, fixated on his objective again.  
“Ghosts?” Ginny asked,

“We’re looking for the diadem, and nobody alive has ever seen it, so that just leaves –”

“That’s brilliant!” Ginny gasped, 

“Nick!” Harry yelled, running down a corridor to try and catch a ghost,

“Harry! My dear boy!” The ghost said,

“Nick, you’ve got to help me. Who’s the ghost of Ravenclaw Tower?”

The ghost looked surprised and a little offended.

“The Gray Lady of course; but if it is ghostly services you require – ?”

“No, it’s about the diadem of Ravenclaw.” The Doctor said, “Do you know where she would be?”

“Let’s see…” 

Nick’s head wobbled a little on his ruff as he turned hither and thither, peering over the heads of the swarming students.

“That’s her over there, Harry, the young woman with the long hair.”

“Come on!” The Doctor shouted, sprinting off, Harry and Ginny on his heels,

They followed her into the corridor, “Excuse me!” The Doctor shouted, knowing the Gray Lady was to be respected.

“Helena,” The Doctor called, the Grey Lady turned, clearly unused to being addressed by her given name.

“Who are you and what is it that you so desire?”

“I’m the Doctor, and –”

“– Doctor?” Helena asked curiously, “Not Doctor of Gallifrey?”

“Gallifrey?” Ginny asked from under the Cloak, the Doctor looked at Helena, usually when someone recognized him, they either were honored to meet him, or ready to kill him. There wasn’t a lot of in-between.

“It is a pleasure to see you again.” Helena said, the Doctor let out a breath of relief, “What is it that you desire, Doctor?”

“Your mother’s diadem, do you know where it is?”

“What do you need with my mother’s diadem?”

“Voldemort,” The Doctor said, “he did something to it, didn’t he?”

“Yes…he did…”

“He defiled it, didn’t he? With Dark Magic?”

“Yes.” 

“I want to destroy it.” Helena’s head snapped to attention, 

“What?”

“The diadem, I want to destroy it.”

“Why?”

“We are trying to defeat Voldemort. Without destroying the diadem, we cannot do that. Now please, can you tell me where it is?”

“It is here, in the castle. In the place where everything is hidden. If you have to ask, you will never know. If you know, you need only ask.” The Doctor looked at Harry, who’s eyes widened, he looked back at the Doctor, 

“I know where it is.”

Harry, the Doctor, and Ginny sprinted around the corner, only to nearly crash into a large half-giant.

“Hagrid!” Harry bellowed, fighting off a playful boarhound at the man’s heels, 

“Harry, yer here!  _ Yer here!” _

Hagrid stopped down, bestowed upon Harry a cursory and rib-cracking hug, then ran back to the shattered window.

“Good boy, Grawpy!” he bellowed through the hole in the window to a giant down below. 

“Hagrid, where have you come from?” Harry asked,

“Heard You-Know-Who from up in our cave,” said Hagrid grimply. “Voice carried, didn’ it? ‘Yeh got till midnight ter gimme Potter.’ Knew yeh mus’ be here, knew what mus’ be happenin’. Smashed our way through the boundary by the forest, Grawpy was carryin’ us, Fang an’ me. Told him ter let me down at the castle, so he shoved me through the window, bless him. Not exac’ly what I meant, bu’ – where’s Ron an’ Hermione?”

“That,” said Harry, “is a really good question.”

“Come on,” The Doctor said, pulling Harry away, 

“So you know where it is?” Ginny asked,

“It’s the Room of Requirement,” Harry said,

“Brilliant.”

They hurtled around a corner and found Fred and a small knot of students standing beside another empty plinth, whose statue had concealed a secret passageway. Their wands were drawn and they were listening at the concealed hole. The Doctor pulled out his sonic, quickly overriding the spells placed upon it, and opening the passage,

“Thanks, Doc!” Fred called as he, Harry, and an invisible Ginny ran.

“Potter!” 

Aberforth Dumbledore stood blocking the corridor ahead, his wand held ready.

“I’ve had hundreds of kids thundering through my pub, Potter!”

“I know, we’re evacuating,” Harry said, “Voldemort’s –”

“– attacking because they haven’t handed you over, yeah,” said Aberforth, “I’m not deaf, the whole of Hogsmeade heard him. And it never occurred to any of you to keep a few Slytherins hostage? THere are kids of Death Eaters you’ve just sent to safety. Wouldn’t it have been a bit smarter to keep ‘em here?”  
The Doctor glared at Aberforth, “It wouldn’t have been right.”

“But it would’ve been smart.”  
“Yes, but I don’t like to put children in danger. You’ll soon find that about me, you don’t want to mess me, and nothing messes with me more than when children are in pain.”

“Don’t pretend you’re all high and mighty, you’re just a kid.” Aberforth laughed,

“You may not know who I am, but I guarantee, I’m no kid. A Time Lord from Gallifrey who travels through time and space. I’ve lived for thousands of years, and I am going to save these children.” With that the Doctor pushed his way through Aberforth, 

“A Time Lord?” Ginny asked,

“Oh, right, yes, I’m an alien by the way,” The Doctor said, “I’m ninehundred and something.”

“Woah.” Ginny said, “Why did you say thousands of years then?” 

“Oh, I don’t actually remember my age, after the first few hundred years it gets hard to keep track. I like to say ninehundred, but I’m probably rounding down by a couple thousand years.”

“What?”  
“Hermione! Ron!” The Doctor had spotted the two and made his way over to them, “Where’ve you been?”

“Chamber of Secrets,” said Ron,

“What?” The Doctor asked,

“The Chamber of Secrets is this chamber underground. There was a huge basilisk in there in my first year.” Ginny said,

“What? Ginny? Where?”

“Under the Cloak.” The Doctor supplied, “Wasn’t about to leave her in the Room of Requirement. Speaking of, that’s our destination. Anyway, why were you in the Chamber of Secrets?”

“It was Ron, all Ron’s idea!” said Hermione breathlessly. “It was absolutely brilliant! There we were, after you left, and I said to Ron, even if we find the other one, how are we going to get rid of it? We still hadn’t got rid of the cup! And then he thought of it! The basilisk!”

“Wait, destroy what?” Ginny asked,

“These objects, Dumbledore wanted us to destroy them.” The Doctor said, “Long story, anyway,” The Doctor’s eyes dropped to the objects clutched in Ron and Hermione’s arms: great curved fangs, torn, he realized, from the skull of a dead basilisk.

“Oh that’s brilliant.” The Doctor grinned,

“But how did you get in there?” Harry asked, “You need to speak Parseltongue!”

“He did!” whispered Hermione. “Show him, Ron!”

Ron whispered the word  _ open _ in parseltongue.

“It’s what you did to open the locket,” he told the Doctor, “I had to have a few goes to get it right, but,” he shrugged modestly, “we got there in the end.”  
“He was _amazing!”_ said Hermione. “Amazing!”

“So we’re another Hor – er – object down,” Ron said, remembering Ginny’s invisible form, and from under his jacket he pulled the mangled remains of Hufflepuff’s cup. “Hermione stabbed it. Thought she should. She hasn’t had the pleasure yet.”  
“Brilliant!” The Doctor said, “Now to the Room of Requirement!”

The Room of Requirement was empty except for two women: Tonks and an elderly witch. 

“Ah, Potter,” The elderly witch said crisply as if she had been waiting for Harry. “You can tell us what’s going on.”

“Is everyone okay?” Tonks asked,

“As far as we know,” the Doctor said, “Are there still people in the passage to the Hog’s Head?”

“I was the last to come through,” said the woman, “I sealed it, I think it unwise to leave it open now Aberforth has left his pub. Have you seen my grandson?”

“Neville’s fighting.” Harry said, 

“Naturally,” Mrs. Longbottom said proudly, “Excuse me, I must go and assist him.”

With surprising speed, she trotted off toward the stone steps.

The Doctor looked at Tonks, “I thought you were taking care of Teddy?”

“I couldn’t stand not knowing –” Tonks looked anguished. “She’ll look after him – have you seen Remus?”

“Tonks.” The Doctor said, “Go home. I’ll make sure Remus is okay. You need to be with Teddy.” Tonks raised an eyebrow,

“ _ You’re  _ going to take care of  _ him?” _

“Oh! Right!” The Doctor said, “Forgot to mention, I’m over nine hundred years old. You need to go back to Teddy.”

“Nine hundred?”

“Yes, me not human. You home to Teddy.” 

“I can’t.” 

“You have to. I know what war does to families. Stay home. Keep out of trouble. Not for your sake, not for Remus’s, but for Teddy’s.”

“But the passage is sealed,” Tonks pointed out, 

“I don’t care, get out of the castle! Now!” Tonks ran, the Doctor already felt the rage boiling inside pouring over. If there was anything he hated, it was war, and guns, and children crying, and this was all three of those (well, not guns, but wands worked in many of the same ways, so they counted).

“Hang on a moment!” said Ron sharply, “We’ve forgotten someone!”

“Who?” asked Hermione.

“The house-elves, they’ll all be down in the kitchen, won’t they?”  
“There are house elves in the kitchen?” The Doctor asked,

“You mean we ought to get them fighting?” asked Ginny, taking off the Cloak now that the room was empty.

“No,” said Ron seriously, “I mean we should tell them to get out. We don’t want any more Dobbies, do we? We can’t order them to die for us –”

There was a clatter as the basilisk fangs cascaded out of Hermione’s arms. Running at Ron, she flung them around his neck and kissed him full on the mouth. Ron threw away the fangs and broomstick he was holding and responded with such enthusiasm that he lifted Hermione off her feet.

“Is this the moment?” Harry asked weakly, the Doctor was grinning, _ oh, humans _ . When they didn’t break apart, Harry raised his voice. “OI! There’s a war going on here!”

Ron and Hermione broke apart, their arms still around each other.  
“I know, mate,” said Ron, who looked as though he had been knocked in the head, “so it’s now or never, isn’t it?”

“Never mind that, what about the Horcrux?” Harry shouted. “D’you think you could just – just hold it in until we’ve got the diadem?”

“Yeah – right – sorry –” said Ron, and he and Hermione set about gathering fangs, both pink in the face. 

Quickly hurrying back into the corridor upstairs, they returned to the entrance for the room, the Doctor was elected to try and get it open, as he could control his psychic waves better than any of the others could.

_ I need a place where everything is hidden _ . He projected,  _ A place to hide things.  _

The furor of the battle died the moment they crossed the threshold and closed the door behind them: All was silent. They were in a place the size of an Earth cathedral with the appearance of a city, it’s towering walls built of objects hidden by thousands of long-gone students. 

“And he never realized  _ anyone _ could get in?” said Ron, his voice echoing in the silence.

“He thought he was the only one,” said Harry, “Too bad for him I’ve had to hide stuff in my time. Can you feel it, Doctor?” The Doctor reached out in the energy field surrounding the room. The amount of energy in the room was overwhelming, the whole room was covered in it, but out of the positive energy of the room, he made out a condensed amount of negative down a ways, 

“This way.” 

“Come on, let’s split up,” said Hermione, “We’ll search faster.” As much as the Doctor didn’t like splitting up, he couldn’t help but agree, they would search five times faster than if they stayed together. He nodded, and the group dispersed. But Ginny stayed, 

“So, who are you really?”

“Oh, just a traveler,” The Doctor said, trying to maneuver his way through the thick energy field,

“Why did they ask if you could feel the object?”

“Because, dark magic – well, all magic – lets off a certain amount of psychic energy. As a touch telepath, my psychic senses are way better than you lot’s. The object is a very condensed negative magical energy, and so I can sense it.”

“So, you’re like, a magical being?”

“Not quite, I’m from another planet.”

“There are no such things as aliens, those are just Muggle bedtime stories.”

“Oh, but is it really that hard to believe?”

“Well, no, I guess it makes sense that there’s something out there, but, I dunno, you just look so human…” 

The Doctor grabbed Ginny’s hand and pressed it to one side of his chest, then to the other,

“Do you feel that?”

“Two hearts.”  
“Alien.”

“Woah.”

“Yep, brilliant!” The Doctor jumped up, “Now, to find that diadem!” 

“I found it!” The Doctor finally shouted. He heard footsteps running toward him, he hear the delicate yet firm steps of Ginny, the determined footsteps of Hermione’s, anxious footsteps of Ron’s, confident footsteps of Harry’s, and, there were more. An insecure, yet determined pair, and two that sounded like those he heard of people who blindly followed others. The Doctor spun around, wand in the air, pushing Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny behind him as the three other people spun around the corner, cleary expecting to catch them by surprise. 

“Draco Malfoy.” The Doctor said, holding out his wand, 

“Who are you?” the boy spat,

“Oh, someone you don’t want to make enemies with.” Malfoy’s eyes flicked to Harry’s wand, 

“That’s my wand you’re holding, Potter,” he said.

“Not anymore,” said Harry, tightening his grip, “Winners, keepers, Malfoy. Who’s lent you theirs?”

“My mother,” said Draco.

Harry laughed a cold empty laugh, “So how come you three aren’t with Voldemort?”

“We’re gonna be rewarded said the cronie on the left, “We ‘ung back, Potter. We decided not to go. Decided to bring you ‘im.” 

“Good plan,” said Harry in mock admiration. “So how did you lot get in here?”

“I virtually lived in the Room of Hidden Things all last year,” said Malfoy, his voice brittle. “I know how to get in.”

“We was hiding in the corridor outside,” grunted the cronie on the right, “We can do Diss-lusion Charms now! And then,” his face split into a grin, “you turned up right in front of us and said you was looking for a die-dum! What’s a die-dum? Tell us, Potter.” He laughed, “ _ Finite!”  _

“No!” shouted Malfoy, staying the boy’s arm as the latter made to repeat his spell. “If you wreck the room you might bury this diadem thing!”  
“What’s the matter?” said the boy, tugging himself free. “It’s Potter the Dark Lord wants, who care about a die-dum?”

“Potter came in here to get it,” said Malfoy with ill-disgusted impatience at the slow-wittedness of his colleagues, “so that must mean –”

“‘Must mean’?” the boy turned on Malfoy with undisguised ferocity. “Who cares what you think? I don’t take your orders no more,  _ Draco _ . You an’ your dad are finished.”

“Come on.” The Doctor vaulted over a wall of objects, snatching the diadem and landing smoothly. Harry followed his lead, landing clumsily, but still on his feet. Ginny went next, but the boy went for her, a spell flying toward her head, it would have hit had the Doctor not cried out, “ _ Protego!” _

“ _Stupify!”_ Hermione shouted, missing the cronie by inches, “It’s that Mudblood! _Avada Kedavra!”_  
The Doctor saw Hermione dive aside, he shot a Stunning spell at the boy, who learched out of the way, knocking Malfoy’s wand out of his hand; it rolled out of sight beneath a mountain of broken furniture and boxes.

“Don’t kill hm! DON’T KILL HIM!” Malfoy yelled at the two cronies who were both aiming at Harry.

“ _ Expelliarmus!” _ The Doctor shouted, watching the wand flying out of one of the cronies’ hand. Ginny attempted to shoot a full Body-Bind Curse, which narrowly missed.

The boy wheeled around and screamed, _“Avada Kedavra!”_ again. Ginny leapt out of sight to avoid the jet of green light. The wandless Malfoy cowered behind a three-legged wardrobe as Hermione charged toward him, hitting the wandless cronie with a Stunning Spell as she came. Suddenly, Ginny screamed,  
“DOCTOR!”

A roaring, billowing noise behind the Doctor gave him a moment’s warning. He turned and saw both Ron and the boy running as fast as they could up the aisle toward them.

“Like it hot, scum?” roared the boy as he ran.

But he seemed to have no control over what he had done. Flames of abnormal size were pursuing them, licking up the sides of the junk bulwarks, which were crumbling to soot at their touch.

_ “Aguamenti!"  _ The Doctor heard both Harry and himself yell out, but the jet of water that soared from the tips of their wands evaporated into the air.

“RUN!”

Malfoy grabbed the Stunned boy dragging him along; the other boy outstripepd all of them, now looking terrified; Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and the Doctor pelted along in his wake, and the fire pursued them. It was clearly not normal fire, and as they turned the corner the flames chased them as though they were alive, sentient, intent upon killing them, and they most likely were. Now the fire was mutating, forming a gigantic pack of fiery beasts: Flaming serpents, chimaeras, and dragons rose and fell and rose again, and the detritus of centuries on which they were feeding was thrown up in the air into their fanged mouths, tossed high on clawed feet, before being consumed by the inferno.

Malfoy and the two boys had vanished from view: The Doctor, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny stopped dead; the fiery monsters were circling them , drawing closer and closer, claws and horns and tails lashed, and the heat was solid as a wall around them.

“What can we do?” Hermione screamed over the deafening roars of the fire. “What can we do?”

“I’ve got an idea!” The Doctor shouted, grabbing a broom from a nearby stack of objects and tossing it to Harry, then another to Ron, who pulled Hermione onto it behind him, one to Ginny, and grabbed one for himself. Together they took off, missing by feet as a horned beak of a flaming raptor that snapped its jaws at them. The smoke and heat were becoming overwhelming: Below them the cursed fire was consuming the contraband of generations of hunted students, the guilty outcomes of a thousand banned experiments, the secrets of countless souls who had sought refuge in the room. Then, he saw them. Malfoy and the unconscious boy perched on a fragile tower of charred desks, the Doctor dived, well-aware that if he went for Malfoy’s hand, it would slide out, being coated in sweat, so instead, grasped his wrist, hoisting him up. He was still holding onto the unconscious boy, but Harry was there in an instant, dragging the boy onto his own broom.

“Do you still have the diadem?” Harry shouted over the roaring of the fire,

“Yes!” The Doctor shouted back, honestly surprised he’d managed to keep a hold of it for so long, suddenly, the Doctor remembered the other boy, and yelled to Ginny, “TAKE MALFOY!” 

“What?” But the Doctor had shot through the air toward Ginny’s broom, and Malfoy was traumatized enough at this point to be obedient, so climbed onto the broom. 

“HARRY!” The Doctor tossed the diadem to Harry, who easily caught it, 

“What are you doing?” Hermione shouted, but the Doctor had already shot back, away from the door, scouring the flaming room until he found a figure, unconscious from smoke inhalation. With a dive, the Doctor scooped the boy up, supporting him on his broom and shot back towards the entrance just as the doors were closing, the Doctor presumed dead.

“Look!” He heard Ron shout as he and the boy came into view, and finally tumbled out the door just before it shut.

“Doctor!” Harry gasped,

“Crabbe!” Malfoy shouted, 

“Oxygen,” The Doctor said, already feeling his respiratory bypass kicking in to compensate for the smoke in his own lungs, “Smoke inhalation, he needs oxygen.”

“I’ll – I’ll take him to St. Mungo’s –” Malfoy said, 

“Yes, do that, and don’t come back. You don’t want to return, Voldemort will kill you if you do.” Malfoy nodded, grabbing his friends and Disapparating. The Doctor knew the defenses had been penetrated, people could Apparate in and out now.

“Only one more to go.” The Doctor said. “Only one more.”


	29. The Elder Wand

The fighting was everywhere now that the Death Eaters had penetrated the walls, screaming echoed through the halls. The Doctor pulled the four others behind a tapestry, “Right, Harry. We need to find the snake.”

“Yeah,” said Harry, clearly unsure where the Doctor was going,

“Do you think you can get into Voldemort’s head?”

“I – I can try.”

“Here, let me help.” The Doctor entered Harry’s mind, he could get into Voldemort’s head if Harry could make the connection first.

It was easy, Voldemort’s head was wide open for Harry and the Doctor to peer into. Voldemort was standing in the middle of a desolate room with peeling paper on the walls and all the windows boarded except for one. The sounds of the assault on the castle were muffled and distant. The single unblocked window revealed distant bursts of light where the castle stood, but inside the room was dark except for a solitary oil lamp.

Voldemort was rolling his wand between his fingers, watching it. His face was lost in angry thought.

“My Lord,” said a voice, desperate and cracked. Voldemort turned to see Lucius Malfoy sitting in the darkest corner, ragged and still bearing marks of Azkaban. One of his eyes remained closed and puffy. “My Lord…please…my son…”

“If your son is dead, Lucius, it is not my fault. He did not come and join me, like the rest of the Slytherins. Perhaps he has decided to befriend Harry Potter?”

“No – never,” whispered Malfoy.

“You must hope not.”

“Aren’t – aren’t you afraid, my Lord, that Potter might die at another hand but yours?” asked Malfoy, his voice shaking. “Wouldn’t it be…forgive me…more prudent to call off this battle, enter the castle, and seek him y-yourself?”

“Do not pretend, Lucius. You wish the battle to cease so that you can discover what has happened to you son. And I do not need to seek Potter. Before the night is out, Potter will have come to find me.”

Voldemort dropped his gaze once more to the wand in his fingers.

“Go and fetch Snape.”

“Snape, m-my Lord?”

“Snape. Now. I need him. There is a – service – I require from him. Go.”

Frightened, stumbling a little through the gloom, Lucius left the room. Voldemort continued to stand there, twirling the wand between his fingers, staring at it.

“It is the only way, Nagini,” he whispered, and he looked around, and there was a great thick snake, now suspended in midair, twisting gracefully within the enchanted, protected space he had made for her, a starry, transparent sphere.

With a gasp, Harry pulled out of Voldemort’s head, ripping the Doctor out with him. At the same moment, the Doctor’s ears were assaulted with the screeches and cries, the smashes and bangs of battle.

“He’s in the Shrieking Shack.” Harry said, “The snake’s with him, it’s got some sort of magical protection around it. He’s just sent Lucius Malfoy to find Snape.”

“Voldemort’s in the Shrieking Shack?” said Ginny, outraged. “He’s not – he’s not even _fighting?”_

“He doesn’t think he needs to fight,” The Doctor said, “He thinks Harry’s going to go to him.”

“But why?” asked Hermione.

“He knows I’m after Horcruxes,” Harry said, “He’s keeping Nagini close beside him – obviously I’m going to have to go to him to get near the thing –”

“Right,” said the Doctor cherrily, “I’ll go get it, be back before you can say, ‘Horcrux’.” And with that, the Doctor jumped up and burst out of the tapestry. He’d only made it about four steps before he felt an invisible hand grab his wrist.   
“We’re coming with you,” Hermione said firmly, the Doctor laughed,

“There’s no way five of us are fitting under this cloak.” Suddenly, Ginny jumped out from under the cloak,   
“I can stay here and fight.” She said, the Doctor sent her a cautious look,

“Stay safe.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Harry, pulled the Doctor under the cloak, and they set off towards the Shrieking Shack. They sped down the marble staircase: Glass shattered to their left, and an hourglass spilled green emeralds everywhere, so that people slipped and staggered as they ran. Two bodies fell from the balcony overhead as they reached the ground, and the form of the werewolf from the Manor sunk its teeth into one of the fallen.

“NO!” The Doctor pulled out his wand and with a deafening blast, the werewolf was thrown backward from the feebly stirring body. He hit the marble banisters and struggled to return to his feet. Then, with a bright white flash and a crack, a crystal ball fell on top of his head, and he crumpled to the ground and did not move.

“I have more!” shrieked a woman from over a banister. She was thin and draped in a gauzy shawl with a cloak and bangles all covered with shining sequins and glittering strings of beads. She had thick glasses, which magnified her eyes. “More for any who want them! Here –”

And with a movement like a tennis serve, she heaved another enormous crystal sphere from her bag, waved her wand through the air, and caused the ball to speed across the hall and smash through a window.

“Come on!” The Doctor shouted, pulling Harry, Ron, and Hermione through the fray. Once they had exited the castle, Harry took the lead, but they didn’t get far before the air around them froze. Shapes moved out in the darkness, swirling figures of concentrated blackness moving toward the castle, their faces hooded and their breath rattling. Dementors.

“Oh, this is not good, this is very, very not good.” The Doctor said, his vision already fading as the intrusive creatures invaded his mind, he stumbled, the cloak nearly slipping off of them.

“Come on, Harry!” said Hermione’s voice from somewhere, “Patronuses, Harry, come on!”

And then, it was dark. Suddenly, the vision of his granddaughter burned through his mind. He watched Susan, look longingly at the TARDIS as it began to dematerialize, leaving her behind. He watched Ian and Barbara, just walking away, never looking back. Vicki, replacing herself with Katarina. Steven, accepting the responsibility to lead the combined society of Savages and Elders that are attempting to create a lasting peace. Katarina push the airlock control, shooting her out into the vacuum of space. Sara, caught in the fields of the Time Destructor and, being a human rather than a Time Lord, aged to death. Dodo, leaving him behind to stay in 1966 London. Polly, and Ben resuming their lives and forgetting about him. Jamie and Zoe, with their minds wiped of him. Victoria, staying with the Harris’. Liz, abandoning him to return to University. Jo, marrying Jones and leaving the Doctor to go to the Amazon. Harry, ejected from the TARDIS and left in England, 1936. Leela, staying with Andered and K-9 Mark I on Gallifrey, later to be killed in the Time War. Romana, killed in the Time War as well. Adric’s ship crash and explode into pieces. Tegan, choosing to stay in 1984 London. Nyssa, leaving him to go to a university. Vislor, leaving him to return to Trion. Kamelion destroyed in the Master’s tissue compression eliminator. Peri, forced to be abandoned on Thoros Beta where Lord Kiv replaced her brain with his own. Melanie, walking away to live on the Iceworld with Sabalom Glitz. Ace, attending the Time Lord Academy, presumably killed in the Time War. Grace, turning down his offer to travel. Rose, his beautiful, wonderful Rose, he watched her disappear with her ‘father.’ He heard her “I love you!” on _Darlig ulv Stranden,_ or Bad Wolf Bay. He watched in pain as he saw her fade away, screaming at himself to answer, to tell her he loved her, but all that came out was, “Rose Tyler-” He then saw Captain Jack, forced to live forever. Adam Mitchell, in the Doctor’s rage, left on Earth with an implant in his head. His daughter, Jenny, shot. Martha turning her back and walking away from him, leaving him for her family. River Song, the mysterious woman who knew his name, saved in that library. Donna, smiling, but not able to remember him. Then, to his horror, he saw Gallifrey. He saw the children. All those children. Everything was burning. He remembered every one of them. How could he forget? He remembered the pain. The pain the never left. The pain that was always building up in the back of his mind, now blazing, the only thing he could think of.

Then, there was light. It poured over him like the suns of Gallifrey. He opened his eyes, there were six Patronuses flying over his head. Ron’s terrier, Hermione’s otter, Harry’s stag, Luna’s rabbit, and a boar and fox from two other boys.

“Doctor!” Harry said, his stag disappearing into the night. “Are you alright?”

“Me? Yeah. Brilliant.” The Doctor jumped up, not refusing the shoulder Harry offered him.

With a roar and an earth-quaking tremor, a giant came lurching out of the darkness from the direction of the forest, brandishing a club taller than any of them.

“RUN!” The Doctor was on his feet and running, but the other others needed no telling: They all scattered, and not a second too soon, for the next moment the giant’s vast foot had fallen exactly where they had been standing. The Doctor looked around, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were following him, but the other three had vanished back into the battle.

“Let’s get out of range!” yelled Ron as the giant swung its club again and its bellows echoed through the night, across the grounds where bursts of red and green light continued to illuminate the darkness.

“The Whomping Willow,” said Harry, “go!”

Somehow the Doctor managed to file away the memories and continued to sprint toward the large tree right behind Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

“How – how’re we going to get in?” panted Ron. “I can – see the place – if we just had – Crookshanks again –”

The Doctor pulled out his Sonic, pointing it at his tree. The ominously swaying branches became still.

“That was brilliant.” Ron said,

“Wait,” Harry paused,

“Harry, we’re coming with you, just get in there!” said Ron, pushing him forward.

The Doctor crawled through the earthy passage that was hidden in the tree’s roots. The Doctor went first, followed by Harry, Ron, then Hermione.

At last the tunnel began to slope upward and the Doctor saw a silver light ahead.

“Harry, the Cloak.” the Doctor whispered. Harry passed the Cloak towards him, and he draped it over himself,

“You lot stay back.” The Doctor whispered,   
“No way.” Harry said, covering both himself and the Doctor as they crawled into the shack.

They heard voices coming from the other room directly ahead of them, only slightly muffled by the fact that the opening at the end of the tunnel had been blocked up by what looked like an old crate. The Doctor and Harry edged up to the opening and peered through a tiny gap left between crate and wall.

The room beyond was dimly lit, but the Doctor could see Nagini, swirling and coiling like a serpent underwater, safe in her enchanted, starry sphere, which floated unsupported in midair. He could see the edge of a table, and a long-fingered white hand toying with a wand. Then Snape spoke, he was inches away from where they were hidden.

“…my Lord, their resistance is crumbling –”

“– and it is doing so without your help,” said Voldemort in his high, clear voice. “Skilled wizard though you are, Severus, I do not think you will make much difference now. We are almost there…almost.”

“Let me find the boy. Let me bring you Potter. I know I can find him, my Lord. Please.”

Snape strode past the gap, the Doctor drew back a little. Voldemort stood up. The Doctor could see him now, see the red eyes, the flattened, serpentine face, the pallor of him gleaming slightly in the semi darkness.

“I have a problem, Severus,” said Voldemort softly.

“My Lord?” said Snape.

“Voldemort raised the Elder Wand, holding it as delicately and precisely as a conductor's baton.

“Why doesn’t it work for me, Severus?”

“My – my Lord?” said Snape blankly. “I do not understand. You – you have performed extraordinary magic with that wand.”

“No,” said Voldemort. “I have performed my usual magic. I am extraordinary, but this wand…no. It has not revealed the wonders it has promised. I feel no difference between this wand and the one I procured from Ollivander all those years ago.”

Voldemort’s tone was musing, calm, but the Doctor noticed Harry’s hand sliding to his scar.

“No difference,” said Voldemort again.

Snape did not speak. Voldemort started to move around the room.

“I have thought long and hard, Severus…Do you know why I have called you back from the battle?”

For a moment, the Doctor saw into Snape’s eyes, he was aware of how much you could learn from looking into someone’s eyes, they were coated in manufactured confidence, yet below that, there was something more, something akin to fear, regret, and acceptance.

“No, my Lord, but I beg you will let me return. Let me find Potter.”

“You sound like Lucius. Neither of you understands Potter as I do. He does not need finding. Potter will come to me. I know his weakness, you see, his one great flaw. He will hate watching the others struck down around him, knowing that it is for him that it happens. He will want to stop it at any cost. He will come.”

“But my Lord, he might be killed accidentally by one other than yourself –”

“My instructions to my Death Eaters have been perfectly clear. Capture Potter. Kill his friends – the more, the better – but do not kill him.

“But it is of you that I wish to speak, Severus, not Harry Potter. You have been very valuable to me. Very valuable.”

“My Lord knows I seek only to serve him. But – let me go and find the boy, my Lord. Let me bring him to you. I know I can –”

“I have told you, no!” said Voldemort, the Doctor caught the glint of red in his eyes as he turned again, and the swishing of his cloak was like the slithering of a snake. “My concern at the moment, Severus, is what will happen when I finally meet the boy!”

“My Lord, there can be no question, surely –”

“– but there _is_ a question, Severus. There is.”

Voldemort halted, the Doctor could see him plainly again as he slid the Elder Wand through his white fingers, staring at Snape.

“Why did both wands I have used fail when directed at Harry Potter?”

“I – I cannot answer that, my Lord.”

“Can’t you?” Voldemort said angrily, “My wand of yew did everything of which I asked it, Severus, except to kill Harry Potter. Twice it failed. Ollivander told me under torture of the twin cores, told me to take another’s wand. I did so, but Lucius’s wand shattered upon meeting Potter’s.”

“I – I have no explanation, my Lord.”

“I sought a third wand, Severus. The Elder Wand, the Wand of Destiny, the Deathstick. I took it from its previous master. I took it from the grave of Albus Dumbledore.”

And now Snape looked at Voldemort, and his face was so blank, the Doctor knew he was hiding something, some emotion.

“My Lord – let me go to the boy –”

“Al this long nicht, when I am on the brink of victory, I have sat here,” said Voldemort, his voice barely louder than a whisper, “wondering, wondering, why the Elder Wand refuses to be what it ought to be, refuses to perform as legend says it must perform for its rightful owner…and I think I have the answer.”

Snape did not speak.

“Perhaps you already know it? You are a clever man, after all, Severus. You have been a good and faithful servant, and I regret what must happen.”

“My Lord –”

“The Elder Wand cannot serve me properly, Severus, because I am not its true master. The Elder Wand belongs to the wizard who killed its last owner. You killed Albus Dumbledore. While you live, Severus, the Elder Wand cannot be truly mine.”

“My Lord!” Snape protested, raising his wand.

“It cannot be any other way,” said Voldemort. “I must master the wand, Severus. Master the wand, and I master Potter at last.”

And Voldemort swiped the air with the Elder Wand. It did nothing to Snape, who for a split second seemed to think he had been reprieved: But then Voldemort’s intention became clear. The snake’s cage was rolling through the air, and before Snape could do anything more than yell, it had encased him, head and shoulders, and Voldemort spoke in Parseltongue.

_“Kill.”_

There was a terrible scream. The Doctor saw Snape’s face losing the little colour it had left; it whitened as his black eyes widened, as the snake’s fangs pierced his neck, as he failed to push the enchanted cage off himself, and his knees gave way and he fell to the floor.

“I regret it,” said Voldemort coldly.

He turned away; there was no sadness in his eyes, no remorse. He pointed the wand at the starry cage holding the snake, which drifted upward, off Snape, who fell sideways onto the floor, blood gushing from the wounds in his neck. Voldemort swept from the room without a backward glance, and the great serpent floated after him in his huge protective sphere.  
Back The Doctor tore the Cloak off, knocking aside the crates in view with a flick of his wand and approached the dying man, Harry, Ron, and Hermione beside him.

Snape’s face was white, his fingers trying to staunch the bloody wound at his neck. Harry looked down at the widening black eyes that found Harry. Snape tried to speak, Harry bent over him, Snape seized the front of his robes and pulled him close.

A terrible rasping, gurgling noise issued from Snape’s throat.

“Take…it…Take…it…”

Something more than blood was leaking from Snape. Silvery blue, neither gas nor liquid, the Doctor recognized it as memory essence. It gushed from his mouth and his ears and his eyes, and the Doctor knew what to do. “EVERYONE OUT!” His voice echoed throughout the deserted shack, Harry, Ron, and Hermione froze, looking at him, confused, “GET OUT! NOW! QUICKLY!” The three scuttled away, “I’ll catch up!” The Doctor assured them.

With the other three gone, the Doctor closed his eyes, his wand on the suffering man, and whispered, “ _ Vulnera Sanentur. _ ” He was aware the spell alone wouldn’t be enough to close a wound of this level of dark magic, it would work for no human, but he was a Time Lord, he was overflowing with energy he might be able to save him. 

The Doctor felt the life-energy drain out of him, and he watched it blossom like a golden mist over Snape’s chest like a large, beautiful flower. The edges of his vision began to dim, and suddenly, the light was gone, leaving nothing but darkness.

The Doctor opened his groggy eyes to sharp black eyes. “Who are you?”

“Oh, hello. It worked, then. I love it when things work…”

“Who are you?” Snape repeated his question.

“I’m the Doctor.” The Doctor said, pulling himself off the ground, “Now, as much as I’d like to stay and chat, there’s a war I need to stop. Meet me at Hogsmeade Station, there shouldn’t be anyone over there.”

“But – how –”

“There’s a war!” The Doctor said, “I’ve got places to be, things to do, wars to stop, swings to swing on. Just get to the station as fast as you can, I’ll meet you there, explain then, don’t be spotted by anyone. Go!” And with that, the Doctor pushed himself to the exit.

“Doctor.” The Doctor turned back around to see Snape, standing with a vial of the blue memory essence, “Take it to Harry. He deserves to know why.”

“Why what?”

“Everything.”

The Doctor nodded, “See you soon, Severus Snape.” And he disappeared back into the tunnel.


	30. The Prince's Tale

The Doctor found Harry, Ron, and Hermione waiting outside the Whomping Willow. “Did he –?” Hermione looked at him,

“He’s dead.” The Doctor lied. He then handed the vial of essence to Harry.

Suddenly, a high, cold voice spoke, Voldemort’s voice echoed across the night.

“You have fought,” he said, “valiantly. Lord Voldemort knows how to value bravery. 

“Yet you have sustained heavy losses. If you continue to resist me, you will all die, one by one. I do not wish this to happen. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a lost and a waste.

“Lord Voldemort is merciful. I command my forces to retreat immediately.

“You have one hour. Dispose of your dead with dignity. Treat your injured.

“I speak now, Harry Potter, directly to you. You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. I shall wait for one hour in the Forbidden Forest. If, at the end of that hour, you have not come to me, have not given yourself up, then battle commences. This time, I shall enter the fray myself, Harry Potter, and I shall find you, and I shall punish every last man, woman, and child who has tried to conceal you from me. One hour.”

The Doctor looked at Harry, “Don’t listen to him.”

“It’ll be all right,” said Hermione wildly. “Let’s – let’s go back to the castle, if he’s gone to the forest we’ll need to think of a new plan –”

“Come on.” The Doctor gestured for them to go, and they followed him. 

The castle was unnaturally silent. There were no flashes of light now, no bangs or screams or shouts. The flagstones of the deserted entrance hall were stained with blood. Emeralds were still scattered all over the floor, along with pieces of marble and splintered wood. Part of the banisters had been blown away.

“Where is everyone?” whispered Hermione.

Ron led the way to the Great Hall. The Doctor stopped behind Harry, who had paused at the doorway.

The House tables were gone and the room was crowded. The survivors stood in groups, their arms around each other’s necks. The injured were being treated upon the raised platform.

The dead lay in a row in the middle of the Hall. He saw the Weasley’s walking among them, searching faces.  
“What are you –?” Ron asked his family, he then paused, “Where’s Fred?”

The Doctor made his way around the dead with Harry, asking Harry to name each one;   
“Simon Pendleton, William Amherst, –” Harry froze, on the ground in front of them, lay Lupin and Tonks.

Harry fled the room. The Doctor raced after him, unsure where he was following him to. They ran up a marble staircase, the castle was completely empty; even the ghosts seemed to have joined the mass mourning in the Great Hall. They ran without stopping or slowing until he reached the stone gargoyle guarding the headmaster’s office.

“Password?”

“Dumbledore!” said Harry, and the gargoyle slid aside, revealing a spiral staircase behind.

When they burst into the circular office, the portraits that hung all around the walls were empty. Harry ran over to the large basin in the corner. He recognized it as a Pensieve, a device in which to view memories. Harry poured Snape’s memory essence into the Pensieve, and dove his head into it, the Doctor’s following behind.

The Doctor fell headlong into sunlight, and his feet found warm ground. When he straightened up, he saw that he was in a nearly deserted playground next to Harry. A single huge chimney dominated the distant skyline. Two girls were swinging backward and forward, and a skinny boy was watching them from behind a clump of bushes. His black hair was overlong and his clothes were so mismatched that it looked deliberate: too short jeans, a shabby, overlarge coat that might have belonged to a grown man, an odd smocklike shirt.

The Doctor moved closer to the boy. Snape looked no more than nine or ten years old, sallow, small, and stringy. There was undisguised greed in his thin face as he watched the younger of the two girls swinging higher and higher than her sister.

“Lily, don’t do it!” shrieked the elder of the two.

But the girl had let go of the swing at the very height of its arc and flown into the air, quite literally flown, launched herself skyward with a great shout of laughter, and instead of crumpling on the playground asphalt, she soared like a trapeze artist through the air, staying up far too long, landing far too lightly.

“Mummy told you not to!”

The elder girl stopped her swing by dragging the heels of her sandals on the ground, making a crunching, grinding sound, then leapt up, hands on hips.

“Mummy said you weren’t allowed, Lily!”

“But I’m fine,” asid Lily, still giggling. “Tuney, look at this. Watch what I can do.” 

Tuney (clearly short for Petunia) glanced around. The playground was deserted apart from themselves and, though the girls did not know it, Snape. Lily had picked up a fallen flower from the bush behind which Snape had lurked. Petunia advanced, evidently torn between curiosity and disapproval. Lily waited until Petunia was near enough to have a clear view, then held out her palm. The flower sat there, opening and closing its petals, like some bizzare, many-lipped oyster.

“Stop it!” shrieked Petunia.

“It’s not hurting you,” said Lily, but she closed her hand on the blossom and threw it back to the ground.

“It’s not right,” said Petunia, but her eyes had followed the flower’s flight to the ground and lingered upon it. “How did you do it?” she added, and there was a definite longing in her voice.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Snape could no longer contain himself, but had jumped out from behind the bushes. Petunia shrieked and ran backward toward the swings, but Lily, though clearly startled, remained where she was. Snape seemed to regret his appearance. A dull flush of colour mounted the sallow cheeks as he looked at Lily.

“What’s obvious?” asked Lily.

Snape had an air of nervous excitement. With a glance at the distant Petunia, now hovering beside the swings, he lowered his voice and said, “I know what you are.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re…you’re a witch,” whispered Snape.

She looked affronted. 

“ _ That’s _ not a very nice thing to say to somebody!”

She turned, nose in the air and marched off toward her sister.  
“No!” said Snape. He flapped after the girls, looking ludicrously batlike in his too-large coat.

The sisters considered him, united in disapproval, both holding on to one of the swing poles.

“You  _ are _ ,” said Snape to Lily. “You  _ are _ a witch. I’ve been watching you for a while. But there’s nothing wrong with that. My mum’s one, and I’m a wizard.”

Petunia’s laugh was like cold water.

“Wizard!” she shrieked, her courage returned now that she had recovered from the shock of his unexpected appearance. “ _ I _ know who  _ you _ are. You’re that Shape boy! They live down Spinner’s End by the river,” she told Lily, and it was evident from her tone that she considered the address a poor recommendation. “Why have you been spying on us?”

“Haven’t been spying,” said Snape, “Wouldn’t spy on  _ you _ , anyway,” he added spitefully, “ _ you’re  _ a Muggle.”

Though Petunia evidently did not understand the word, she could hardly mistake the tone.

“Lily, come on, we’re leaving!” she said shrilly. Lily obayed her sister at once, glaring at Snape as she left. He stood watching them as they marched through the playground gate, the Doctor and Harry, the only ones left to observe him, recognized Snape’s bitter disappointment. The Doctor understood that Snape had been planning this moment for a while, and that it had all gone wrong…

The scene dissolved, and quickly re-formed around the Doctor and Harry. They were now in a small thicket of trees. The Doctor could see a sunlit river glittering through their trunks. The shadows cast by the trees made a basin of cool green shade. Two children sat facing each other, cross-legged on the ground. Snape had removed his coat now; his odd smock looking less peculiar in the half light than it had at the playground.

“…and the Ministry can punish you if you do magic outside school, you get letters.”

“But I  _ have _ done magic outside school!”

“We’re all right. We haven’t got wands yet. They let you off when you’re a kid and you can’t help it. But once you’re eleven,” he nodded importantly, “and they start training you, then you’ve got to go careful.”

There was a little silence. Lily had picked up a fallen twig and twirled it in the air, the Doctor knew that she was imagining sparks trailing from it. Then she dropped the twig, leaned in toward the boy, and said, “It  _ is _ real, isn’t it? It’s not a joke? Petunia says you’re lying to me. Petunia says there isn’t a Hogwarts. It  _ is _ real, isn’t it?”

“It’s real for us,” said Snape. “Not for her. But we’ll get the letter, you and me.”

“Really?” whispered Lily.

“Definitely,” said Snape, and even with his poorly cut hair and his odd clothes, he struck an oddly impressive figure sprawled in front of her, brimful of confidence in his destiny.

“And will it really come by owl?” Lily whispered.

“Normally,” said Snape. “But you’re Muggle-born, so someone from school will have to come and explain to your parents.”

“Does it make a difference, being Muggle-born?”

Snape hesitated. His black eyes, eager in the greenish gloom, moved over the pale face, the dark red hair.

“No,” he said. “It doesn’t make any difference.”

“Good,” said Lily, relaxing: It was clear that she had been worrying.

“You’ve got loads of magic,” said Snape. “I saw that. All the time I was watching you…”

His voice trailed away; she was not listening, but had streated out on the leafy ground wand was looking up at the canopy of leaves overhead. He watched her greedily as he had watched her in the playground.

“How are things at your house?” Lily asked.

A little crease appeared between his eyes.

“Fine.” he said.

“They’re not arguing anymore?”

“Oh yes, they’re arguing,” said Snape. He picked up a fistful of leaves and began tearing them apart, apparently unaware of what he was doing. “But it won’t be that long and I’ll be gone.”

“Doesn’t your dad like magic?”

“He doesn't like anything, much,” said Snape.

“Severus?”  
A little smile twisted Snape’s mouth when she said his name.

“Yeah?”

“Tell me about the dementors again.”

“What d’you want to know about them for?”

“If I use magic outside school –”

“They wouldn’t give you to the dementors for that! Dementors are for people who do really bad stuff. They guard the wizard prison, Azkaban. You’re not going to end up in Azkaban, you’re too –”

He turned red again and shredded more leaves. Then a small rustling noise behind the Doctor made him turn: Petunia, hiding behind a tree had lost her footing.

“Tuney!” said Lily, surprise and welcome in her voice, but Snape had jumped to his feet.

“Who’s spying now?” he shouted. “What d’you want?”

Petunia was breathless, alarmed at being caught. The Doctor could see her struggling for something hurtful to say.  
“What is that you’re wearing, anyway?” she said, pointing at Snape’s chest. “Your mum’s blouse?”

There was a  _ crack _ : A branch over Petunia’s head had fallen. Lily screamed: The branch caught Petunia on the shoulder, and she staggered backward and burst into tears.

“Tuney!”

But Petunia was running away. Lily rounded on Snape.  
“Did you make that happen?”

“No.” He looked both defiant and scared.  
“You did!” She was backing away from him. “You _did!_ You hurt her!”

“No – no I didn’t!”

But the lie did not convince Lily: After one last burning look, she ran from the thicket, off after her sister, and Snape looked miserable and confused…

And the scene re-formed. The Doctor looked around: He and Harry were on platform nine and three-quarters, and Snape stood beside them, slightly hunched, next to a thin, sallow-faced, sour-looking woman who greatly resembled him. Snape was staring at a family of four a short distance away. The two girls stood a little apart from their parents. Lily was pleading with her sister. 

“…I’m sorry, Tuney, I’m sorry! Listen –” She caught her sister’s hand and held tight to it, even though Petunia tried to pull it away.

“Maybe once I’m there – no, listen, Tuney! Maybe once I’m there, I’ll be able to go to Professor Dumbledore and persuade him to change his mind!”

“I don’t – want – to – go!” said Petunia, and she dragged her hand back out of her sister’s grasp. “You think I want to go to some stupid castle and learn to be a – a –”

Her pale eyes roved over the platform, over the cats mewling in their owners’ arms, over the owls fluttering and hooting at each other in cages, over the students, some already in their long black robes, loading trunks onto the scarlet steam engine or else greeting one another with glad cries after a summer apart.

“–you think I want to be a – a freak?”

Lily’s eyes filled with tears as Petunia succeeded in tugging her hand away.

“I’m not a freak,” said Lily. “That’s a horrible thing to say.”

“That’s where you’re going,” said Petunia with relish. “A special school for freaks. You and that Snape boy…weirdos, that’s what you two are. It’s good you’re being separated from normal people. It’s for our safety.”

Lily glanced toward her parents, who were looking around the platform with an air of wholehearted enjoyment, drinking in the scene. Then she looked back at her sister, and her voice was low and fierce.

“You didn’t think it was such a freak’s school when you wrote to the headmaster and begged him to take you.”

Petunia turned scarlet.

“Beg? I didn’t beg!”

“I saw his reply. It was very kind.”

“You shouldn’t have read –” whispered Petunia, “that was my private – how could you –”

Lily gave herself away by half-glancing toward where Snape stood nearby. Petunia gasped.

“That boy found it! You and that boy have been sneaking in my room!”

“No – not sneaking –” Now Lily was on the defensive. “Severus saw the envelope, and he couldn’t believe a Muggle could have contacted Hogwarts, that’s all! He says there must be wizards working undercover in the postal service who take care of –”

“Apparently wizards poke their noses in everywhere!” said Petunia, now as pale as she had been flushed. “ _ Freak!” _ She spat at her sister, and she flounced off to where her parents stood…

The scene dissolved again. Snape was hurrying along the corridor of the Hogwarts Express as it clattered through the countryside. He had already changed into his school robes, had perhaps taken the opportunity to take off his dreadful Muggle clothes. At last he stopped, outside a compartment in which a group of rowdy boys were talking. Hunched in a corner seat beside the window was Lily, her face pressed against the windowpane.

Snape slid open the compartment door and sat down opposite Lily. She glanced at him and then looked back out the window. She had been crying.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” she said in a constricted voice.

“Why not?”

“Tuney h-hates me. Because we saw that letter from Dumbledore.”

“So what?”

She threw him a look of deep dislike.

“So, she’s my sister!”

“She’s only a –” He caught himself quickly; Lily, too busy trying to wipe her eyes without being noticed, did not hear him.

“But we’re going!” he said, unable to suppress the exhilarating in his voice. “This is ti! We’re off to Hogwarts!”

She nodded, mopping her eyes, but in spite of herself, she half smiled.

“You’d better be in Slytherin,” said Snape, encouraged that she had brightened a little.

“Slytherin?”

One of the boys sharing the compartment who had shown no interest at all in Lily or Snape until that point, looked around at the word, and the Doctor recognized the distinct features of Harry; slight, black-haired, well combed, this was Harry’s father.

“Who wants to be in Slytherin? I think I’d leave, wouldn’t you?” James asked the boy lounging on the seats opposite him, and the Doctor heard Harry breathe,

“Sirius…” Sirius did not smile.

“My whole family have been in Slytherin,” he said.

“Blimey,” said James, “and I thought you seemed all right!”

Sirius grinned,

“Maybe I’ll break the tradition. Where are you heading, if you’ve got the choice?”

James lifted an invisible sword.

“‘Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart!’ Like my dad.”

Snape made a small, disparaging noise. James turned on him.

“Got a problem with that?”

“No,” said Snape, though his slight sneer said otherwise. “If you’d rather be brawny than brainy –”

“Where’re you hoping to go, seeing as you’re neither?” interjected Sirius.

James roared with laughter. Lily sat up, rather flushed, and looked from James to Sirius in dislike.

“Come on, Severus, let’s find another compartment.”

“Oooooo…”

James and Sirius imitated her lofty voice; James tried to trip Snape as he passed.

“See ya, Snivellus!” a voice called, as the compartment door slammed…

And the scene dissolved once more…

The Doctor and Harry were standing right behind Snape as they faced the candlelit House tables, lined with rapt faces. Then Professor McGonagall said, “Evans, Lily!”

The Doctor watched Harry’s mother walk forward on trembling legs to sit down upon the rickety stool. Professor McGonagall dropped the Sorting Hat onto her head, and barely a second after it had touched the dark red hair, the hat cried, “ _ Gryffindor!” _

The Doctor heard Snape let out a tiny groan. Lily took off the hat, handed it back to Professor McGonagall, then hurried toward the cheering Gryffindors, but as she went she glanced back at nape, an there was a sad little smile on her face. The Doctor saw Sirius move up the bench to make room for her. She took one look at him, seemed to recognize him from the train, folded her arms, and firmly turned her back on him.

The roll call continued. The Doctor watched Remus Lupin and James join Lily and Sirius at the Gryffindor table. At last, when only a dozen students remained to be sorted, Professor McGonagall called Snape.

The Doctor watched Harry walk with him to the stool, watching intently as the hat was placed upon his head. “ _ Slytherin!” _ cried the Sorting Hat.

And Severus Snape moved off to the other side of the Hall, away from Lily, to where the Slytherins were cheering him, to where Lucius Malfoy, a prefect badge gleaming upon his chest, patted Snape on the back as he sat down beside him…

And the scene changed…

Lily and Snape were walking across the castle courtyard, evidently arguing. The Doctor hurried to catch up with them, to listen in.They were much taller than in the last memory, clearly a few years had passed.

“…thought we were supposed to be friends?” Snape was saying. “Best friends?”

“We  _ are _ Sev, but I don’t like some of the people you’re hanging round with! I’m sorry, but I detest Avery and Mulciber!  _ Mulciber! _ What do you see in him, Sev, he’s creepy! D’you know what he tried to do to Mary Macdonald the other day?”

Lily had reached a pillar and leaned against it, looking up into the thin, sallow face.

“That was nothing,” said Snape. “It was a laugh, that’s all –”

“It was Dark Magic, and if you think that’s funny –”

“What about the stuff Potter and his mates get up to?” demanded Snape. His colour rose again as he said it, unable, it seemed, to hold in his resentment.

“What’s Potter got to do with anything?” said Lily.

“They sneak out at night. There’s something weird about that Lupin. Where does he keep going?

“He’s ill,” said Lily. “They say he’s ill –”

“Every month at the full moon?” said Snape.

“I know your theory,” said Lily, and she sounded cold. “Why are you so obsessed with them anyway? Why do you care what they’re doing at night?”

“I’m just trying to show you they’re not as wonderful as everyone seems to think they are.”

The intensity of his gaze made her blush.

“They don’t use Dark Magic, though.” She dropped her voice. “And you’re being really ungrateful. I heard what happened the other night. You went sneaking down that tunnel by the Whomping Willow, and James Potter saved you from whatever’s down there –”

Snape’s whole face contorted and he spluttered, “Saved? Saved? You think he was playing the hero? He was saving his neck and his friends’ too! You’re not going to – I won’t let you –”

“ _ Let _ me?  _ Let _ me?”

Lily’s bright green eyes were slits. Snape backtracked at once.

“I didn’t mean – I just don’t want to see you made a fool of – he fancies you, James Potter fancies you!” The words seemed wrenched from him against his will. “And he’s not…everyone thinks…big Quidditch hero –” Snape’s bitterness and dislike were rendering him incoherent, and Lily’s eyebrows were traveling farther and farther up her forehead.

“I know James Potter’s an arrogant toerag,” she said, cutting across Snape. “I don’t need you to tell me that. But Mulciber’s and Avery’s idea of humor is just evil.  _ Evil _ , Sev. I don’t understand how you can be friends with them.”

The Doctor doubted that Snape had even heard her strictures on Mulciber and Avery. The moment she had insulted James Potter, his whole body had relaxed, and as they walked away there was a new spring in Snape’s step…

And the scene dissolved…

Harry watched as Snape, now looking about fifteen, left the Great Hall and wandered away from the castle, straying inadvertabtly close to the place beneath the beech tree where James, Sirius, Lupin, and another young Gryffindor sat together. 

The Doctor heard James call to Sirius, “This’ll liven you up, Padfoot. Look who it is…”

Snape’s head turned. He had become very still.

“Excellent,” Sirius said, a grin spreading across his face, “ _ Snivellus.” _

The Doctor turned to see what Sirius was looking at, and he saw Snape, on his feet again, stowing his paper from his exam in his bag. He emerged from the shadows of the bushes and set off across the grass, Sirius and James stood up. Lupin and the other boy remained sitting: Lupin was staring down at his book, though his eyes were not moving and a faint frown line had appeared between his eyebrows. The other boy was looking from Sirius and James to Snape with a look of avid anticipation on his face.

“All right, Snivellus?” said James loudly.

Snape reacted so fast it was as though he had been expecting an attack: Dropping his bag, he plunged his hand inside his robes, and his wand was halfway into the air when James shouted, “ _ Expelliarmus!”  _

Snape’s wand flew twelve feet into the air and fell with a little thud in the grass behind him. Sirius let out a bark of laughter.

“ _ Impedimenta!” _ he said, pointing his wand at Snape, who was knocked off his feet, halfway through a dive toward his own fallen wand.

Students all around had turned to watch. Some of them had gotten to their feat and were edging nearer to watch. Some looked apprehensive, others entertained.

Snape lay panting on the ground. James and Sirius advanced on him, wands up, James glancing over his shoulder at the girls at the water’s edge as he went. The other boy was on his feet now, watching hungrily, edging around Lupin to get a clearer view.

“How’d the exam go, Snivelly?” said James.

“I was watching him, his nose was touching the parchment,” said Sirius viciously. “There’ll be great grease marks all over it, they won’t be able to read a word.”

Several people watching laughed; Snape was clearly unpopular. The other boy sniggered shrilly. Snape was trying to get up, but the kinx was still operating on him; he was struggling, as thought bound by invisible ropes.

“You – wait,” he panted, staring up at James with an expression of purest loathing. “You – wait…”

“Wait for what?” said Sirius coolly. “What’re you going to do, Snivelly, wipe your nose on us?”

Snape let out a stream of mixed swearwords and hexes, but his wand being ten feet away nothing happened.

“Wash out your mouth,” said James coldly. “ _ Scourgify!” _

Pink soap bubble streamed from Snape’s mouth at once; the froth was covering his lips, making him gag, choking him –

“Leave him ALONE!”

James and Sirius looked around. James’s free hand jumped to his hair again.

It was one of the girls from the lake edge. She had thick, dark red hair that fell to her shoulders and startlingly green almond-shaped eyes.

“All right, Evans?” said James,

“Leave him alone,” Lily repeated. She was looking at James with every sign of great dislike. “What’s he done to you?”

“Well,” said James, appearing to deliberate the point, “it’s more the fact that he  _ exists _ , if you know what I mean…”

Many of the surrounding watchers laughed, Sirius and the other boy included, but Lupin, still apparently intent on his book, didn’t, and neither did Lily.

“You think you’re funny,” she said coldly. “But you’re just an arrogant, bullying toerag, Potter. Leave him  _ alone _ .”

“I will if you go out with me, Evans,” said James quickly. “Go on…Go out with me, and I’ll never lay a wand on old Snivelly again.”

Behind him, the Impediment Jinx was wearing off. Snape was beginning to incho toward his fallen wand, spitting out soupsuds as he crawled.

“I wouldn’t go out with you if it was a choice between you and the giant squid,” said Lily.

“Bad luck, Prongs,” and Sirius briskly, turning back to Snape. “OI!”

But it was too late; Snape had directed his wand straight at James; there was a flash of light and a gash appeared on the side of James’s face, spattering his robes with blood. James whirled about; a second flash of light later, Snape was hanging upside down in the air, his robes falling over his head to reveal skinny, pallid legs and a pair of graying underpants.

Many people in the small crowd watching cheered. James and his friends roared with laughter.

Lily, whose furious expression had twitched for an instant as though she was going to smile, said, “Let him down!”

“Certainly,” said James and he jerked his wand upward. Snape fell into a crumpled heap on the ground. Disentangling himself from his robes, he got quickly to his feet, wand up, but Sirius said, “ _ Petrificus Totalus!”  _ and Snape kneeled over again at once, rigid as a board.

“LEAVE HIM ALONE!” Lily shouted. She had her own wand out now. James and Sirius eyed it warily.

“Ah, Evans, don’t make me hex you,” said James earnestly.

“Take the curse off him, then!”

James sighed deeply, then turned to Snape and muttered the countercurse.

“There you go,” he said, as Snape struggled to his feet again, “you’re lucky Evans was here, Snivellus –”

“I don’t need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her!”

Lily blinked. “Fine,” she said cooly. “I won’t bother in the future. And I’d wash your pants if I were you,  _ Snivellus.” _

“Apologize to Evans!” James roared at Snape, his wand pointed threateningly at him.

“I don’t want  _ you _ to make him apologize,” Lily shouted, rounding on James. “You’re just as bad as he is…”

“What?” yelped James. “I’d NEVER call you a – a you-know-what!”

“Messing up your hair because you think it looks cool to look like you’ve just got off your broomstick, showing off with that stupid Snitch, walking down corridors and hexing anyone who annoys you just because you can – I’m surprised your broomstick can get off the ground with that fat head on it. You make me SICK.”

She turned on her heel and hurried away.

“Evans!” James shouted after her, “Hey, EVANS!”

But she didn’t look back.

“What is it with her?” said James, trying and failing to look though this was a throwaway question of no real importance to him.

“Reading between the lines, I’d like to say she thinks you’re a bit conceited, mate,” said Sirius.

“Right,” said James, who looked furious now, “Right –”

There was another flash of light, and Snape was once again hanging upside down in the air.

“Who wants to see me take of Snivelly’s pants?”

The scene changed…

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not interested.”

“I’m sorry!”

“Save your breath.”

It was nighttime. Lily, who was wearing a dressing gown, stood with her arms folded at the entrance to Gryffindor Tower.

“I only came out because Mary told me you were threatening to sleep here.”

“I was. I would have done. I never meant to call you Mudblood, it just –”

“Slipped out?” There was no pity in Lily’s voice. “It’s too late. I’ve made excuses for you for years. None of my friends can understand why I even talk to you. You and your precious little Death Eater friends – you see, you don’t even deny it! You don’t even deny that’s what you’re all aiming to be! You can’t wait to join You-Know-Who, can you?”

He opened his mouth, but closed it without speaking.

“I can’t pretend anymore. You’ve chosen your way, I’ve chosen mine.”

“No – listen, I didn’t mean –”

“– to call me Mudblood? But you call everyone of my birth Mudblood, Severus. Why should I be any different?”

He struggled on the verge of speech, but with a contemptuous look she turned and climbed through the portrait hole into the tower…

The corridor dissolved, and the scene took a little longer to reform: he Doctor seemed to fly through shifting shapes and colours until his surrounding solidified again and he stood on a hilltop, forlorn and cold in the darkness, the wind whistling through the branches of a few leafless tree. The adult Snape was panting, turning on the spot, his wand gripped tightly in his hand, waiting for something or someone.

Then a blinding, jagged jet of whitelight flew through the air: Snape had dropped to his knees and his wand had flown out of his hand.

“Don’t kill me!”

“That was not my intention.”

Professor Dumbledore stood before Snape with his robes whipping around him, and his face was illuminated from below in the light cast by his wand.

“Well, Severus? What message does Lord Voldemort have for me?”

“No – no message – I’m here on my own accord.”

Snape was wringing his hands: He looked a little mad, with his straggling black hair flying around him.

“I – I come with a warning – no, a request – please –”

Dumbledore flicked his wand. Though leaves and branches still flew through the night air around them, silence fell on the spot where he and Snape faced each other.

“What request could a Death Eater make of me?”

“The – the prophecy…the prediction…Trelawney…”

“Ah, yes,” said Dumbledore. “How much did you relay to Lord Voldemort?”

“Everything – everything I heard!” said Snape. “That is why – it is for that reason – he thinks it means Lily Evans!” 

“The prophecy did not refer to a woman,” said Dumbledore. “It spoke of a boy born at the end of July –”

“You know what I mean! He thinks it means her son, he is going to hunt her down – kill them all –”

“If she means so much to you,” said Dumbledore, “surely Lord Voldemort will spare her? Could you not ask for mercy for the mother, in exchange for the son?”

“I have – I have asked him –”

“You disgust me,” said Dumbledore. Snape seemed to shrink a little. “You do not care, then, about the deaths of her husband and child? They can die, as long as you have what you want?”

Snape said nothing, but merely looked up at Dumbledore.

“Hide them all, then,” he croaked. “Keep her – them – safe. Please.”

“And what will you give me in return, Severus?”

“In – in return?” Snape gaped at Dumbledore, the Doctor expected him to protest, but after a long moment he said, “Anything.”

The hilltop faded, and the Doctor and Harry now stood in Dumbledore’s office, and something was making a terrible sound, like a wounded animal. Snape was slumped forward in a chair and Dumbledore was standing over him, looking grim. After a moment or two, Snape raised his face, and he looked like a man who had lived a hundred years of misery since leaving the wild hilltop.

“I thought…you were going…to keep her…safe…”

“She and James put their faith in the wrong person,” said Dumbledore. “Rather like you, Severus. Weren’t you hoping that Lord Voldemort would spare her?”

Snape’s breathing was shallow.

“Her boy survives,” said Dumbledore.

With a tiny jerk of the head, Snape seemed to flick off an irksome fly.

“Her son lives. He has her eyes, precisely her eyes. You remember the shape and colour of Lily Evans’s eyes, I am sure?”

“DON’T!” Bellowed Snape. “Gone…dead…”

“Is this remorse, Severus?”

“I wish…I wish  _ I _ were dead…”

“And what use would that be to anyone?” said Dumbledore coldly. “If you loved Lily Evans, if you truly loved her, than your way forward is clear.”

Snape seemed to peer through a haze of pain, and Dumbledore’s words appeared to take a long time to reach him.

“What – what do you mean?”

“You know how and why she died. Make sure it was not in vain. Help me protect Lily’s son.”

“He does not need protection. The Dark Lord has gone –”  
“The Dark Lord will return, and Harry Potter will be in terrible danger when he does.”

There was a long pause, and slowly Snape regained control of himself, mastered his own breathing. At last he said, “Very well. Very well. But never – never tell, Dumbledore! This must be between us! Swear it! I cannot bear…especially Potter’s son…I want your word!”  
“My word, Severus, that I shall never reveal the best of you?” Dumbledore sighed, looking down into Snape’s ferocious, anguished face. “If you insist…”

The office dissolved but re-formed instantly. Snape was pacing up and down in front of Dumbledore.

“– mediocre, arrogant as his father, a determined rulebreaker, delighted to find himself famous, attention-seeking and impertinent –”

“You see what you expect to see, Severus,” said Dumbledore, without raising his eyes from a copy of  _ Transfiguration Today _ . “Other teachers report that the boy is modest, likeable, and reasonably talented. Personally, I find him an engaging child.

Dumbledore turned a page, and said, without looking up, “Keep an eye on Quirrell, won’t you?”

A whirl of colour, and now everything darkened, and Snape and Dumbledore stood a little apart at the entrance hall to the castle. There appeared to have been some sort of Yule ball, as stranglers made their way out.

“Well?” Murmured Dumbledore.

Karkaroff’s Mark is becoming darker too. He is panicking, he fears retribution; you know how much help help he gave the Ministry after the Dark Lord fell.” Snape looked sideways at Dumbledore’s crooked-nosed profile. “Karkaroff intends to flee if the Mark burns.”

“Does he?” said Dumbledore softly, “And are you tempted to join him?”

“No,” said Snape, “I am not such a coward.”  
“No,” agreed Dumbledore. “You are a braver man by far that Igor Karkaroff. You know, sometimes I think we Sort too soon…”

He walked away, leaving Snape looking stricken…

And now the Doctor and Harry stood in the headmaster’s office yet again. It was nighttime, and Dumbledore sagged sideways in the throne-like chair behind the desk, apparently semiconscious. His right hand dangled over the side, blackened and burned. Snape was muttering incantations, pointing his wand at the wrist of the hand, while with his left hand he tipped a goblet full of thick golden potion down Dumbledore’s throat. After a moment or two, Dumbledore’s eyelids fluttered and opened.

“Why,” said Snape, without preamble, “ _ why _ did you put on that ring? It carries a curse, surely you realized that. Why even touch it?”

The ring lay on the desk before Dumbledore. It was cracked; the sword of Gryffindor lay beside it.

Dumbledore grimaced.

“I…was a fool. Sorely tempted…”

“Tempted by what?”

Dumbledore did not answer.

“It is a miracle you managed to return here!” Snape sounded furious. “That ring carried a curse of extraordinary power, to contain it is all we can hope for; I have trapped the curse in one hand for the time being –”

Dumbledore raised his blackened, useless hand, and examined it with the expression of one being shown an interesting curio.

“You have done very well, Severus. How long do you think I have?”

Dumbledore’s tone was conversational; he might have been asking for a weather forecast. Snape hesitated, and then said, “I cannot tell. Maybe a year. There is no halting such a spell forever. It will spread eventually, it is the sort of curse that strengthens over time.”

Dumbledore smiled. The news that he had less than a year to live seemed a matter of little to no concern to him.

“I am fortunate, extremely fortunate, that I have you, Severus.”

“If you had only summoned me a little earlier, I might have been able to do more, buy you more time!” said Snape furiously. He looked down at the broken ring and the sword. “Did you think that breaking the ring would break the curse?”

“Something like that…I was delirious, no doubt…” said Dumbledore. With an effort, he straightened himself in his chair. “Well, really, this makes matters much more straightforward.”

Snape looked utterly perplexed. Dumbledore smiled.

“I refer to the plan Lord Voldemort is revolving around me. His plan to have the poor Malfoy boy murder me.”

Snape sat down in a chair across the desk from Dumbledore. The Doctor could tell that he wanted to say more on the subject of Dumbledore’s cursed hand, but the other held it up in polite refusal to discuss the matter further. Scowling, Snape said, “The Dark Lord does not expect Draco to succeed. This is merely punishment for Lucius’s recent failures. Slow torture for Draco’s parents, while they watch him fail and pay the price.”

“In short, the boy has had a death sentence pronounced upon him as surely as I have,” said Dumbledore. “Now, I should have thought the natural successor to the job, once Draco fails, is yourself?”

There was a short pause.

“That, I think, is the Dark Lord’s plan.”  
“Lord Voldemort forsees a moment in the near future when he will not need a spy at Hogwarts?”

“He believes the school will soon be in his grasp, yes.”  
“And if it does fall into his grasp,” said Dumbledore, almost it seemed as an aside, “I have your word that you will do all in your power to protect the students of Hogwarts?”

Snape gave a stiff nod.

“Good. Now then. Your first priority will be to discover what Draco is up to. A frightened teenage boy is a danger to others as well as himself. Offer him help and guidance, he ought to accept, he likes you –”

“– much less since his father has lost favor. Draco blames me, he thinks I have usurped Lucius’s position.”

“All the same, try. I am concerned less for myself than for accidental victims of whatever schemes might occur to that boy. Ultimately, of course, there is only one thing to be done if we are to save him from Lord Voldemort’s wrath.”

Snape raised his eyebrows and his tone was sardonic as he asked, “Are you intending to let him kill you?”

“Certainly not.  _ You _ must kill me.”

There was a long silence, broken only by an odd clicking noise. Fawkes the phoenix was gnawing a bit of cuttlebone.

“Would you like me to do it now?” asked Snape, his voice heavy with irony. “Or would you like a few moments to compose an epitaph?”

“Oh, not quite yet,” said Dumbledore, smiling. “I daresay the moment will present itself in due course. Given what has happened tonight,” he indicated his withered hand, “we can be sure that it will happen within a year.”

“If you don’t mind dying,” said Snape roughly, “why not let Draco do it?”

“That boy’s soul is not yet so damaged,” said Dumbledore. “I would not have it ripped apart on my account.”

“And my soul, Dumbledore? Mine?”

“You alone know whether it will harm your soul to help an old man avoid pain and humiliation,” said Dumbledore. “I ask this one great favor of you, Severus, because death is coming for me as surely as the Chudley Cannons will finish bottom of this year’s league. I confess I should prefer a quick, painless exit to the protracted and messy affair it will be if, for instance, Greyback is involved – I hear Voldemort has recruited him? Or dear Bellatrix, who likes to play with her food before she eats it.”

His tone was light, but his blue eyes pierced Snape, as though the soul they discussed was visible to him. At last Snape gave a curt nod.

Dumbledore seemed satisfied.

“Thank you, Severus…”

The office disappeared, and now Snape and Dumbledore were strolling together in the deserted castle grounds by twilight.

“What are you doing with Potter, all these evenings you are closeted together?” Snape asked abruptly.

Dumbledore looked weary.

“Why?” You aren’t trying to give him  _ more  _ detentions, Severus? The boy will soon have spent more time in detention than out.”

“He is his father over again –”

“In looks, perhaps, but his deepest nature is much more like his mother’s. I spend time with Harry because I have things to discuss with him, information I must give him before it is too late.”

“Information,” repeated Snape. “You trust him…you do not trust me.”

“It is not a question of trust. I have, as we both know, limited time. It is essential that I give the boy enough information for him to do what he needs to do.”

“And why may I not have the same information?”

“I prefer not to put all of my secrets in one basket, particularly not a basket that spends so much time dangling on the arm of Lord Voldemort.”

“Which I do on your orders!”

“And you do it extremely well. Do not think that I underestimate the constant danger in which you place yourself, Severus. To give Voldemort what appears to be valuable information while withholding the essentials is a job I would entrust to nobody but you.”

“Yet you confide much more in a boy who is incapable of Occlumency, whose magic is mediocre, and who has a direct connection into the Dark Lord’s mind!”

“Voldemort fears the connection,” said Dumbledore. “Not so long ago he had one small taste of what truly sharing Harry’s mind means to him. It was pain such as he has never experienced. He will not try to possess Harry again, I am sure of it. Not in that way.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Lord Voldemort’s soul, maimed as it is, cannot bear close contact with a soul like Harry’s. Like a tongue on frozen steel, like flesh in flame –”

“Souls? We were talking of minds!”

“In the case of Harry and Lord Voldemort, to speak of one is to speak of the other.”

Dumbledore glanced around to make sure that they were alone. They were close by the forest now, btu there was no sign of anyone near them.

“After you have killed me, Severus –”

“You refuse to tell me everything, yet you expect that small service of me!” snarled Snape, and real anger flared in the thin face now. “You take a great deal for granted, Dumbledore! Perhaps I have changed my mind!”

“You have me your word, Severus. And while we are talking about services you owe me, I thought you agreed to keep a close eye on our young Slytherin friend?”

Snape looked angry, mutinous. Dumbledore sighed.

“Come to my office tonight, Severus, at eleven, and you shall not complain that I have no confidence in you…”

They were back in Dumbledore’s office, the windows were dark, and a phoenix in the corner sat silent as Snape sat quite still, as Dumbledore walked around him, talking.

“Harry must not know, not until the last moment, not until it is necessary, otherwise how could he have the strength to do what must be done?”

“But what must he do?”

“That is between Harry and me. Now listen closely, Severus. There will come a time – after my death – do not argue, do not interrupt! There will come a time when Lord Voldemort will seem to fear for the life of his snake.”

“For Nagini?” Snape looked astonished.

“Precisely. If there comes a time when Voldemort stops sending that snake forth to do his bidding, but keeps it safe beside him under magical protection, then, I think, it will be safe to tell Harry.”

“Tell him what?”

Dumbledore took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

“Tell him that on the night Lord Voldemort tried to kill him, when Lily cast her own life between them as a shield, the Killing Curse rebounded upon Lord Voldemort, and a fragment of Voldemort’s soul was blasted apart from the whole, and latched itself onto the only living soul left in that collapsing building. Part of Lord Voldemort lives inside Harry, and it is that which gives him the power of speech with snakes, and a connection with Lord Voldemort’s mind that he has never understood. And while that fragment of soul, unmissed by Voldemort, remains attached to and protected by Harry, Lord Voldemort cannot die.”

“So the boy…the boy must die?” asked Snape quite calmly.

“And Voldemort himself must do it, Severus. That is essential.”

There was a long silence. Then snape said, “I thought…all these years…that we were protecting him for her. For Lily.”

“We have protected him because it has been essential to teach him, to raise him, to let him try his strength,” said Dumbledore, his eyes still tight shut. “Meanwhile, the connection between them grows ever stronger, a parasitic growth: Sometimes I have thought he suspects it himself. If I know him, he will have arranged matters so that when he does set out to meet his death, it will truly mean the end of Voldemort.”

Dumbledore opened his eyes. Snape looked horrified.

“You have kept him alive so that he can die at the right moment?”

“Don’t be shocked, Severus. How many men and women have you watched die?”

“Lately, only those whom I could not save,” said Snape. He stood up. “You have used me.”  
“Meaning?”  
“I have spied for you and lied for you, put myself in mortal danger for you. Everything was supposed to be to keep Lily Potter’s son safe. Now you tell me you have been raising him like a pig for slaughter –”

“But this is touching, Severus,” said Dumbledore seriously. “Have you grown to care for the boy, after all?”

“For  _ him?” _ shouted Snape. “ _ Expecto Patronum!” _

From the tip of his wand burst the silver doe: She landed on the office floor, bounded across the office, and soared out of the window. Dumbledore watched her fly away, and as her silvery glow faded he turned back to Snape, and his eyes were full of tears.

“After all this time?”

“Always,” said Snape.

And the scene shifted. Now the doctor saw Snape talking to the portrait of Dumbledore behind his desk.

“You will have to give Voldemort the correct date of Harry’s departure from his aunt and uncle’s,” said Dumbledore. “Not to do so will raise suspicion, when Voldemort believe you so well informed. However, you must plant the idea of decoys; that, I think, ought to ensure Harry’s safety. Try Confunding Mundungus Fletcher. And Severus, if you are forced to take part in the chase, be sure to act your part convincingly…I am counting upon you to remain in Lord Voldemort’s good books as long as possible, or Hogwarts will be left to the mercy of the Carrows…”

Now Snape was head to head with Mundungus in an unfamiliar tavern, Mundungus’s face looking curiously blank, Snape frowning in concentration.

“You will suggest to the Order of the Phoenix,” Snape murmured, “that they use decoys. Polyjuice Potion. Identical Potters. It is the only thing that might work. You will forget that I have suggested this. You will present it as your own idea. You understand?”

“I understand,” murmured Mundungus, his eyes unfocused…

Now the Doctor and Harry were flying alongside Snape on a broomstick through a clear dark night: They were accompanied by other hooded Death Eaters, and ahead were Lupin and Harry, though he didn’t move quite like Harry, he was most likely someone else.

A Death Eater moved ahead of Snape and raised his wand, Pointing directly at Lupin’s back –

“ _ Sectumsempra!” _ shouted Snape.

But the spell, intended for the Death Eater’s wand hand, missed and hit the Harry instead –

And next, Snape was kneeling in Sirius’s old bedroom. Tears were dripping from the end of his hooked nose as he read the old letter from Lily. The second page carried only a few words:

 

_ could have ever been friends with Gellert Grindelwald. I think her mind’s going, personally! _

_ Lots of love, _

_ Lily _

 

Snape took the page bearing Lily’s signature, and her love, and tucked it inside his robes. Then he ripped in two the photograph he was also holding, so that he kept the part from which Lily laughed, throwing the portion showing James and Harry back onto the floor, under the chest of drawers…

And now Snape stood again in the headmaster’s study as Phineas Nigellus came hurrying into his portrait.

Headmaster! They are camping in the Forest of Dean! The Mudblood –”

“Do not use that word!”

“– the Granger girl, then, mentioned the palace as she opened her bag and I heard her!”

“Good. Very good!” cried the portrait of Dumbledore behind the headmaster’s chair. “Now, Severus, the sword! Do not forget that it must be taken under conditions of need and valor – and he must know that you give it! If Voldemort should read Harry’s mind and see you acting for him –”

“I know, said Snape curtly. He approached the portrait of Dumbledore and pulled at its side. It swung forward, revealing a hidden cavity behind it from which he took the sword of Gryffindor.

“And you still aren’t going to tell me why it’s so important to give Potter the sword?” said Snape as he swung a traveling cloak over his robes.

“No, I don’t think so,” said Dumbledore’s portrait. “He will know what to do with it. And Severus, be very careful, they might not take kindly to your appearance after George Weasley’s mishap –”

Snape turned at the door.

“Don’t worry, Dumbledore,” he said coolly. “I have a plan…”

And Snape left the room. The Doctor and Harry rose up out of the Pensieve, and the Doctor watched Harry drop to the carpeted floor.


	31. The Forbidden Forest

Harry ley with his face pressed into the dusty carpet of the office. The Doctor closed his eyes. Harry was so young, his life had barely begun. But a Horcrux was a Horcrux, and it had to be destroyed. “Harry,” The Doctor said softly, a hand on his shoulder, Harry looked up, “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” The Doctor said, “This is your choice.” Harry nodded, standing up,

“Do you think it’ll hurt? Dying?” The Doctor pondered this for a moment,

“Every time that I’ve died, it has, but perhaps with the killing curse, it shall be quick and painless.” 

Harry began to walk out of the office. His movements were hollow, empty. The Doctor followed him, they grabbed the Invisibility Cloak. They did not need to discuss it, the Doctor would be there for him. He would be by his side until the end, even if no one else could see. 

Then Neville nearly walked into them He was one half of a pair that was carrying a body in from the grounds. The Doctor glanced down and felt his heart drop, a young boy, underage for sure, couldn’t be older than sixteen. 

“You know what? I can manage him alone, Neville,” said the other boy who was with him. He heaved Colin over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift and carried him into the Great Hall.

Neville leaned against the door frame for a moment and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. Then he set off down the steps again into the darkness to recover more bodies.

They moved down the steps and out into the darkness towards Neville, who was bending over another body.

“Neville.” Harry said, 

“Blimey, Harry, you nearly gave me heart failure!”

Harry pulled the Cloak off himself,

“Where are you going alone?” Neville asked suspiciously,

“He’s not alone.” The Doctor said, pulling the Cloak of himself as well.  
“Yeah, It’s all part of the plan, Neville, there’s something we’ve got to do, but we might be out of sight for a while, and well, you know Voldemort’s snake, Neville? He’s got a huge snake…Calls it Nagini…”

“I’ve heard, yeah…What about it?”

“It’s got to be killed. Ron and Hermione know that, but just in case they –” Harry hesitated, he clearly didn’t want to end the sentence,

“Just in case they get caught up with something,” The Doctor cut in, “And you get the chance –”

“Kill the snake?”

“Kill the snake,” Harry repeated.

“All right, Harry. You’re okay, are you?”

“I’m fine. Thanks, Neville.”

But Neville seized Harry’s wrist as Harry and the Doctor made to move on.

“We’re going to keep fighting. Harry. You know that?”  
“Yeah, I –”

The Doctor saw Harry freeze, Neville patted him on the shoulder, released him, and walked away to look for more bodies.

The Doctor and Harry swung the Cloak back around themselves and walked on. Someone else was moving not far away, stooping over another prone figure on the ground. Though the Doctor wasn’t sure if Harry could see who it was, but he could tell that it was Ginny. 

The Doctor knew Harry had spotted her, as he stopped in his tracks, watching her crouching over a girl who was whispering for her mother. The Doctor looked at Harry, who closed his eyes, and forced himself onward.

Hagrid’s hut loomed out of the darkness. There were no lights. They moved on, reaching the edge of the forest, and stopped.

A swarm of dementors was gliding amongst the trees; the Doctor could feel their psychic presence. The Doctor turned to Harry, the only one amongst the two of them who could produce a Patronus, but he was digging in his pocket. 

Harry pulled out the Snitch that Dumbledore had left him. He was breathing quickly as he stared down it, and he pressed it to his lips and whispered, “I am about to die.”

The metal shell broke open. Harry lowered his shaking hand, raised his wand beneath the Cloak and murmured, “ _ Lumos.” _

The black stone with its jagged crack running down the center sat in the two halves of the Snitch. The Resurrection Stone had cracked down the vertical line representing the Elder Wand. The triangle and circle representing the Cloak and the stone were still discernible.

Harry closed his eyes and turned the stone over in his hand three times.

Around him, figures rose, neither ghost nor truly flesh, but physically embodied memory projections surrounded him. 

James was exactly the same height as Harry. His hair was untidy and ruffled and his glasses were a little lopsided.

Sirius was tall and handsome, he loped with an easy grace, his hands in his pockets and a grin on his face.

Lupin was younger than the Doctor had seen him, he was much less shabby, and his hair was thicker and darker. He looked happy to be back in this familiar place, scene of so many adolescent wanderings.

Lily’s smile was widest of all. She pushed her long hair back as she drew close to Harry, and her green eyes, so like Harry’s, searched Harry’s face hungrily, as though she would never be able to look at him enough.

“You’ve been so brave.”

Harry couldn’t seem to speak. His eyes feasted upon his mother.

“You are almost there,” said James. “Very close. We are…so proud of you.”

“Does it hurt?” Harry repeated the question he had asked the Doctor.

“Dying? Not at all,” said Sirius. “Quicker and easier than falling asleep.”

“And he will want it to be quick. He wants it over,” said Lupin.

“I didn’t want you to die,” Harry said, “Any of you. I’m sorry –” He looked at Lupin, “– right after you’d had your son…Remus, I’m sorry –”

“But I am sorry too,” said Lupin. “Sorry I will never know him…but he will know why I died and I hope he will understand. I was trying to make a world in which he could live a happier life.”

A chilly breeze that seemed to emanate from the heart of the forest blew through.

“You’ll stay with me?” Harry asked,

“Until the very end,” said James.

“They won’t be able to see you?” asked Harry.

“We are a part of you,” said Sirius. “Invisible to anyone else.”   
The Doctor smiled, he could see them only because of the energy they were radiating, any human wouldn’t see them, he momentarily wondered if he should return to the castle, but decided against it. He would stay with Harry until the end. He watched Harry look at his mother.

“Stay close to me,” he said quietly.

They set off, the dementor’s chill being repelled by the projections. They traveled deeper and deeper into the forest, without clear idea of where Voldemort actually was, but sure that they would find him. 

A thud and a whisper: Some other living creature had stirred close by. The Doctor and Harry stopped under the Invisibility Cloak, peering around, all the projections stopping as well.

“Someone there,” came a rough whisper close at hand. “He’s got an Invisibility Cloak. Could it be –?”

Two figures emerged from behind a nearby tree: Their wands flared, the Doctor saw Yaxley and Dolohov peering into the darkness, directly at the place where the Doctor and the projections stood. They couldn’t see anything.

“Definitely heard something,” said Yaxley. “Animal, d’you reckon?”

“That head case Hagrid kept a whole bunch of stuff in here,” said Dolohov, glancing over his shoulder.

Yaxley looked down at his watch.

“Time’s nearly up. Potter had his hour. He’s not coming.”

“And he was sure he’d come! He won’t be happy.”

“Better go back,” said Yaxley. “Find out what the plan is now.”

He and Dolohov turned and walked deeper into the forest, the Doctor and Harry followed them, knowing that they could lead them exactly where they wanted to go. 

They had traveled on mere minutes when the Doctor saw light ahead, and Yaxley and Dolohov stepped out into a clearing that the Doctor could tell had once been an Acromantula nest. The remnants of webs were there still, but it was deserted. 

A fire burned in the middle of the clearing, and its flickering light fell over a crowd of completely silent, watchful Death Eaters. Some of them were still masked and hooded; others showed their faces. Two giants sat on the outskirts of the group, casting massive shadows over the scene, their faces cruel, rough-hewn like rock. The Doctor saw Fenrir, skulking, chewing his long nails; a great blond was dabbing at his bleeding lip. He saw Lucius Malfoy, who looked defeated and terrified, and Narcissa, whose eyes were sunken and full of apprehension.

Every eye was fixed upon Voldemort, who stood with his head bowed, and his white hands folded over the Elder Wand in front of him. Behind his head, still swirling and coiling, the great snake Nagini floated in her glittering, charmed cage, like a halo.

When Dolohov and Yaxley rejoined the circle, Voldemort looked up.

“No sign of him, my Lord,” said Dolohov.

Voldemort’s expression did not change. The red eyes seemed to burn in the firelight. Slowly, he drew the Elder Wand between his long fingers.

“My Lord –”

Bellatrix had spoken: She sat close to Voldemort, disheveled, her face a little bloody but otherwise unharmed.

Voldemort raised his hand to silence her, and she did not speak another word, but eyed him in worshipful fascination.

“I thought he would come,” said Voldemort in his high, clear voice, hie eyes on the leaping flames. “I expected him to come.”

Nobody spoke. They seemed terrified. The Doctor felt Harry’s hand clutch his own in terror. The Doctor gave him a reassuring squeeze. 

“I was, it seems…mistaken,” said Voldemort.

“You weren’t.” Harry said it as loudly as he could, the Doctor watched as the Resurrection Stone slipped from his numb fingers, and the projections disappeared. 

The Death Eaters rose together, and there were many cries, gasps, even laughter. Voldemort had frozen where he stood, but his red eyes found Harry. Harry moved toward him with nothing but the fire between them.

Then a voice yelled: “HARRY NO!”

The Doctor spun around to see Hagrid, bound and trussed, tied to a tree nearby. His massive body shook the branches overhead as he struggled, desperate.

“NO! NO! HARRY, WHAT’RE YEH –?”

“QUIET!” shouted the blond Death Eater, and with a flick of his wand Hagrid was silenced.

Bellatrix, who had leapt to her feet, was looking eagerly from Voldemort to Harry, her chest heaving. The only things that moved were the flames and the snake, coiling and uncoiling in the glittering cage behind Voldemort’s head.

“Harry Potter,” Voldemort said very softly. “The Boy Who Lived.”

None of the Death Eaters moved. They were waiting: Everything was waiting. Hagrid was struggling, and Bellatrix was panting.

Voldemort had raised his wand. His head was still tilted to one side, like a curious child, wondering what would happen if he proceeded. 

“ _ Avada Kedavra!” _ Voldemort cast the spell and a jet of green light hit Harry in the chest and Harry lay still.


	32. The Flaw in the Plan

The Doctor stared at Harry’s unmoving form on the ground. Voldemort had fallen to the ground, momentarily unconscious, Bellatrix was helping him up. Evidently the soul fragment inside Harry had effected Voldemort. The Doctor crept towards Harry, not daring make a sound.

“ _My Lord…”_ Bellatrix’s voice spoke like a lover. “ _My Lord…”_

“That will do,” said Voldemort, brushing away the Death Eaters who had approached him. He got to his feet and Bellatrix alone remained behind, kneeling beside Voldemort.

“My Lord, let me –”

“I do not require assistance,” said Voldemort coldly, “The boy…Is he dead?”

There was complete silence in the clearing. Nobody approached Harry.

“You,” said Voldemort, pointing at Mrs. Malfoy,

“Narcissa, Examine him. Tell me whether he is dead.”

Narcissa Malfoy approached Harry, she knelt down to him, softly touching Harry’s face and pulling back his eyelid and creeping a hand to his chest to try to find his pulse. Then, she whispered,

“ _Is Draco alive? Is he in the castle?”_ And suddenly, Harry breathed,

“St. Mungo’s.”

“ _Is he okay?”_

“Yes.”

“He is dead!”  
And now the Death Eaters shouted and yelled in triumph and stamped their feet, red and silver light shot into the air in celebration.

“You see?” screeched Voldemort over the tumult. “Harry Potter is dead by my hand, and no man alive can threaten me now! Watch! _Crucio!”_

The Doctor watched in pain as the very alive Harry was thrown once, twice, three times into the air: His glasses flew off, but managed to keep himself floppy and lifeless, and when he fell to the ground for the last time, the clearing echoed with jeers and shrieks of laughter.

“Now,” said Voldemort, “we go to the castle, and show them what has become of their hero. Who shall drag the body? No – Wait –” He turned to Hagrid, “You carry him, he will be nice and visible in your arms, will he not? Pick up your little friend, Hagrid. And the glasses – put on the glasses – he must be recognizable –”

The Doctor watched as Harry’s glasses were rammed onto his face and Hagrid lifted Harry into his arms. The half-giant was trembling, and great tears splashed down upon Harry.

“Move,” said Voldemort, and Hagrid stumbled forward, forcing his way through the close-growing trees, back through the forest.

The Doctor followed them through the darkness, trying to avoid bumping into the Death Eaters pouring through the forest.

The two giants crashed along behind the Death Eaters. The victorious procession marched on toward the open ground, and after a while the trees began growing thin.

“BANE!” Hagrid suddenly shouted, spotting a centaur crossing the forest, “Happy now, are yeh, that yeh didn’ fight, yeh cowardly bunch o’ nags? Are yeh happy Harry Potter’s – d-dead…?”

Hagrid could not continue, but broke down in fresh tears. Finally, they had reached the edge of the forest.

“Stop.”

A chill settled over them and the dementors approached, but were sent away by Voldemort. He walked forward, put his wand to his neck, and his magically amplified voice echoed throughout the grounds.

“Harry Potter is dead. He was killed as he ran away, trying to save himself while you lay down your lives for him. We bring you his body as proof that your hero is gone.

“The battle is won. You have lost half of you fighters. My Death Eaters outnumber you, the Boy Who Lived is finished. There must be no more war. Anyone who continues to resist, man, woman, or child, will be slaughtered, as will every member of their family. Come out of the castle now, kneel before me, and you shall be spared. Your parents and children, your brothers and sisters will live and be forgiven, and you will join me in the new world we shall build together.”

There was silence in the grounds and from the castle.

“Come,” said Voldemort, and he moved ahead, Hagrid was forced to follow. Voldemort was striding in front of them, wearing the great snake Nagini over his shoulders, now free of her enchanted cage.

“Harry,” sobbed Hagrid. “Oh, Harry…”

They continued until they had approached the castle.

“Stop.”

The Death Eaters came to a halt. They spread out in a line facing the open front doors of the school.

“NO!”

Professor McGonagall was the first to react. The doorway was filling with people as the survivors of the battle came out onto the front steps to face their vanquishers and see the truth of Harry’s death for themselves. Voldemort stood in front, stroking Nagini’s head with a single white finger.

“No!”

“ _No!”_

“Harry! HARRY!”

Ron’s, Hermione’s, and Ginny’s voices were worse than McGonagall’s. Their cries acted like a trigger; the crowd of survivors took up the cause, screaming and yelling abuse at the Death Eaters until, –

“SILENCE!” cried Voldemort, and there was a bang and a flash of light, and silence was forced upon everyone.  “It is over! Set him down, Hagrid, at my feet, where he belongs!”

The Doctor watched as Harry was lowered to the grass.

“You see?” said Voldemort, and he strode backward and forward beside the place where Harry lay. “Harry Potter is dead! Do you understand now, deluded ones? He was nothing, ever, but the boy who relied on others to sacrifice themselves for him!”

“He beat you!” Yelled Ron, and the charm broke, and the defenders of Hogwarts were shouting and screaming again until a second, more powerful bang extinguished their voices once more.

“He was killed while trying to sneak out of the castle grounds,” said Voldemort, and there was a relish in his voice for the lie, “killed while trying to save himself –”

Neville suddenly broke from the crowd and charged at Voldemort, but with a flash of light, a bang, and a grunt of pain, he was thrown to the ground, disarmed, Voldemort throwing his wand aside.

“And who is this?” he said in his soft snake’s hiss. “Who has volunteered to demonstrate what happens to those who continue to fight when the battle is lost?”

Bellatrix gave a delighted laugh.

“It is Neville Longbottom, my Lord! The boy who has been giving the Carrows so much trouble! The son of the Auror’s, remember?”

“Ah, yes, I remember,” said Voldemort, looking down at Neville, who was struggling back to his feet, unarmed and unprotected, standing in no-man’s-land between the survivors and the Death Eaters. “But you are a pureblood, aren’t you, my brave boy?” Voldemort asked Neville, who stood facing him, his empty hands curled into fists.

“So what if I am?” said Neville loudly.

“You show spirit and bravery, and you come of noble stock. You will make a very valuable Death Eater. We need your kind, Neville Longbottom.”

“I’ll join you when hell freezes over,” said Neville. “Dumbledore’s Army!” He shouted, and there was an answering cheer from the crowd, whom Voldemort’s Silencing Charms seemed unable to hold.

“Very well,” said Voldemort, and the Doctor heard the danger in the silkiness of his voice. “If that is your choice, Longbottom, we revert to the original plan. On your head,” he said quietly, “be it.”

Voldemort waved his wand, and seconds later, out of one of the castle’s shattered windows, a large crow flew through the half light and landed in Voldemort’s hand. He shook the mildewed object by its pointed end and in it dangled an empty and ragged hat.

“There will be no more Sorting at Hogwarts School,” said Voldemort. “There will be no more Houses. The emblem, shield, and colours of my noble ancestor, Salazar Slytherin, will suffice for everyone. Won’t they, Neville Longbottom?”

He pointed his wand at Neville, who grew rigid and still, then he forced the hat onto Neville’s head so that it slipped down below his eyes. There were movements from the watching crowd in front of the castle, and as one, the Death Eaters raised their wands, holding the fighters of Hogwarts at bay.

“Neville here is now going to demonstrate what happens to anyone foolish enough to continue to oppose me,” said Voldemort, and with a flick of his wand, he caused the Sorting Hat to burst into flames.

Screams split the dawn, and Neville was aflame, rooted to the spot, unable to move, but before the Doctor could do anything, many things happened at the same moment.

They heard uproar from the distant boundary of the school as what sounded like hundreds of people came swarming over the out-of-sight walls and pelted toward the castle, uttering loud war cries. At the same time, a Hagrid’s half-brother, Grawp, came lumbering around the side of the castle and yelled, “HAGGER!” His cry was answered by roars from Voldemort’s giants: They ran at Grawp, making the earth quake. There came hooves and the twangs of bows, and arrows were suddenly falling amongst the Death Eaters, who broke ranks, shouting their surprise. Harry jumped up, and the Doctor took the opportunity to grab him and pull him under the Invisibility Cloak.

In one swift, fluid motion, Neville broke free of the Body-Bind Curse upon him; the flaming hat fell off him and he drew from its depths something silver, with a glittering, rubied handle –

The slash of the silver blade could not be heard over the roar of the oncoming crowd or the sounds of the clashing giants or of the stampeding centaurs, and yet it seemed to draw every eye. With a single stroke Neville sliced off the great snake’s head, which spun high into the air, gleaming in the light flooding from the entrance hall, and Voldemort’s mouth was open in a scream of fury that nobody could hear, and the snake’s body thudded to the ground at his feet –

Both the Doctor and Harry found themselves casting a Shield Charm between Neville and Voldemort before the latter could raise his wand. Then, over the screams and the thunderous stamps of the battling giants, Hagrid’s yell came loudest of all.

“HARRY!” Hagrid shouted. “HARRY – WHERE’S HARRY?”

Chaos reigned. The charging centaurs were scattering the Death Eaters, everyone was fleeing the giants’ stamping feet, and nearer and nearer thundered the reinforcements that had come from who knew where; there were thestrals and hippogriffs soaring above the giants, scratching at their eyes while Grawp punched and pummeled them; and now the wizards, defenders of Hogwarts and Death Eaters alike, were being forced back into the castle.

Still hidden beneath the Invisibility Cloak, Harry and the Doctor were buffeted into the entrance hall: The Doctor could tell Harry was searching for Voldemort. And there he was; firing spells from his wand as he backed into the Great Hall, still screaming instructions to his followers as he sent curses flying left and right. The Doctor and Harry cast more Shield Charms and Voldemort’s would-be victims darted past them into the Great Hall, where they joined the fight already flourishing inside it.

And now there were more, even more people storming up the front steps, the Doctor saw Charlie Weasley overtaking Professor Slughorn, who was still wearing his emerald pajamas. They seemed to have returned at the head of what looked like families and friends of every Hogwarts student who had remained to fight, along with the shopkeepers and homeowners of Hogsmeade. The centaurs burst into the hall with a great clatter of hooves, as behind the Doctor the door that led to the kitchens was blasted off its hinges.

The house-elves of Hogwarts swarmed into the entrance hall, screaming and waving carving knives and cleavers, and at their head, the locket of Regulus Black bouncing on his chest, was Kreacher, his bullfrog’s voice audible even above this din: “Fight! Fight! Fight for my Master, defender of house-elves! Fight the Dark Lord, in the name of brave Regulus! Fight!”

They were hacking and stabbing at the ankles and shins of Death Eaters, their tiny faces alive with malice, and everywhere the Doctor looked, Death Eaters were folding under sheer weight of numbers, overcome by spells, dragging arrows from wounds, stabbed in the leg by elves, or else simply attempting to escape, but swallowed by the oncoming horde.

But it was not over yet: The Doctor and Harry sped between duelers, past struggling prisoners, and into the Great Hall.

Voldemort was in the center of the battle, and he was striking and smithing all within reach, the Doctor knew they had no chance of a clear shot, but continued to fight their way nearer and the Great Hall became more and more crowded as everyone who could walk forced their way inside.

The Doctor saw Yaxley slammed to the floor by George and another boy, and saw Dolohov fall with a scream at Professor Flitwick’s hands. Another Death Eater was thrown across the room by Hagrid, hitting the stone wall opposite and slid unconscious to the ground. Ron and Neville were together bringing down Fenrir Greyback, Aberforth was Stunning another, Arthur and Percy flooring Thicknesse, Fred was nowhere to be found.

Voldemort was now dueling McGonagall, Slughorn, and Kingsley all at once, and there was cold hatred in his face as they wove and ducked around him, unable to finish him –

Bellatrix was still fighting too, fifty yards away from Voldemort, and like her master she dueled three at once: Hermione, Ginny, and Luna, all battling their hardest, but Bellatrix was equal to them, and the Doctor’s attention was diverted as a Killing Curse shot so close to Ginny that she missed death my an inch –

Both the Doctor and Harry changed course, running at Bellatrix rather than Voldemort, but before they had gone a few steps, they were knocked sideways.

“NOT MY DAUGHTER, YOU BITCH!”

Mrs. Weasley threw off her cloak as she ran, freeing her arms. Bellatrix spun on the spot, roaring with laughter at the sight of her new challenger.

“OUT OF MY WAY!” shouted Mrs. Weasley to the three girls, and with a swipe of her wand, she began to duel. The Doctor watched as Molly Weasley’s wand slashed and twirled, and Bellatrix Lestrange’s smile faltered and became a snarl. Jets of light flew from both wands, the floor around the witches’ feet became hot and cracked; both women were fighting to kill.

“No!” Mrs. Weasley cried as a few students ran forward, trying to come to her aid. “Get back! Get _back!_ She is mine!”

Hundreds of people now lined the walls, watching the two fights, Voldemort and his three opponents, Bellatrix and Molly. The Doctor and Harry stood, invisible, between the two.

“What will happen to your children when I’ve killed you?” taunted Bellatrix, as mad as her master, capering as Molly’s curses danced around her. “When Mummy’s gone?”

“You – will – never – touch – our – children – again!” screamed Mrs. Weasley.

Bellatrix laughed, an exhilarated laugh, a laugh the Doctor had heard before in many others right before they –

Molly’s curse soared beneath Bellatrix’s outstretched arm and hit her squarely in the chest, directly over her heart.

Bellatrix’s gloating smile froze, her eyes seemed to bulge: For the tiniest space of time she knew what had happened, and then she toppled, and the watching crowd roared, and Voldemort screamed.

The Doctor turned and saw McGonagall, Kingsley, and Slughorn blasted backward, flailing and writhing through the air, as Voldemort’s fury at the fall of his last, best lieutenant exploded with the force of a bomb. Voldemort raised his wand and directed it at Molly Weasley.

“ _Protego!”_ roared the Doctor and Harry as one, and the combined Shield Charm expanded in the middle of the Hall, and Voldemort stared around for the source as Harry jumped out from under the Cloak at last.

The yell of shock, the cheers, the screams  on every side of “Harry!” “He’s ALIVE” were stifled at once. The crowd was afraid, and silence fell abruptly and completely as Voldemort and Harry looked at each other, and began, at the same moment, to circle each other.

“Nobody help me,” Harry said loudly, and in the total silence his voice carried like a trumpet call. “I’ve got to do this by myself.”

Voldemort hissed.

“He doesn’t mean that,” he said, his red eyes wide. “It’s not how he operates, is it? Who are you going to use as a human shield this time, Potter?”

“Nobody,” said Harry simply. “There are no more Horcruxes. It’s just you and me. Neither can live while the other survives, and one of us is about to leave for good…”

“One of us?” jeered Voldemort, and his whole body was taut and his red eyes stared, a snake that was about to strike. “You think it will be you, do you, the boy who has survived by accident, and because Dumbledore was pulling the strings?”

“Accident, was it, when my mother died to save me?” asked Harry. They were still moving sideways, both of them, in that perfect circle, maintaining the same distance from each other. “Accident, when I decided to fight in that graveyard? Accident, that I didn’t defend myself tonight, and still survived, and returned to fight again?”

“ _Accidents!”_ screamed Voldemort, but still he did not strike, and the watching crowd was frozen as if Petrified.  “Accident and chance and the fact that you crouched and sniveled behind the skirts of greater men and women, and permitted me to kill them for you!”

“You won’t be killing anyone else tonight,” said Harry as they circled, and stared into each other’s eyes. “You won’t be able to kill any of them ever again. Don’t you get it? I was ready to die to stop you from hurting these people –”

“But you did not!”

“– I meant to, and that’s what did it. I’ve done what my mother did. They’re protected from you. Haven’t you noticed how none of the spells you put on them are binding? You can’t torture them. You can’t touch them. You don’t learn from your mistakes, Riddle, do you?”

“ _You dare –”_

“Yes, I dare,” said Harry. “I know things you don’t know, Tom Riddle. I know lots of important things that you don’t. Want to hear some, before you make another big mistake?”

Voldemort did not speak, but prowled in a circle, and the Doctor knew that Harry was keeping him temporarily mesmerised and at bay, held back by the faintest possibility that Harry might indeed know a final secret…”

“Is it love again?” said Voldemort, his snake’s face jeering. “Dumbledore’s favorite solution, _love_ , which he claimed conquered death, though love did not stop him falling from the tower and breaking like an old waxwork? _Love_ , which did not prevent me stamping out your Mudblood mother like a cockroach, Potter – and nobody seems to love you enough to run forward this time and take my curse. So what will stop you dying now when I strike?”

The Doctor moved steadily toward the two of them, ready to run between if Voldemort did strike.

“Just one thing,” said Harry, and still they circled each other, wrapped in each other, held apart by nothing but the last secret.

“If it is not love that will save you this time,” said Voldemort, “you must believe that you have magic that I do not, or else a weapon more powerful than mine?”

“I believe both,” said Harry, and the Doctor watched shock flit across the snakelike face, though it was instantly dispelled; Voldemort began to laugh, it was humorless and insane, echoing around the silent Hall.

“You think _you_ know more magic than I do?” he said. “Than _I_ , than Lord Voldemort, who has performed magic that Dumbledore himself never dreamed of?”

“Oh, he dreamed of it,” said Harry, “but he knew more than you, knew enough not to do what you’ve done.”

“You mean he was weak!” screamed Voldemort. “Too weak to dare, too weak to take what might have been his, what will be mine!”

“No, he was cleverer than you,” said Harry, “a better wizard, a better man.”

“I brought about the death of Albus Dumbledore!”

“You thought you did,” said Harry, “but you were wrong.”

For the first time, the watching crowd stirred as the hundreds of people around the walls drew breath as one.

“ _Dumbledore is dead!”_ Voldemort hurled the words at Harry as though they would cause him unendurable pain, clearly thinking Harry was in denial. “His body decays in the marble tomb in the grounds of this castle, I have seen it, Potter, and he will not return!”

“Yes, Dumbledore is dead,” said Harry calmly, “but you did not have him killed. He chose his own manner of dying, chose it months before he died, arranged the whole thing with the man you thought was your servant.”

“What childish dream is this?” said Voldemort, but still he did not strike, and his read eyes did not waver from Harry’s.

“Severus Snape wasn’t yours,” said Harry. “Snape was Dumbledore’s, Dumbledore’s from the moment you started hunting down my mother. And you never realized it, because the thing you can’t understand. You never saw Snape cast a Patronus, did you, Riddle?”

Voldemort did not answer, but that was answer enough. They continued to circle each other like wolves about to tear each other apart.

“Snape’s Patronus was a doe,” said Harry, “the same as my mother’s, because he loved her for nearly all of his life, from the time when they were children. You should have realized,” he said as Voldemort’s nostrils flared, “he asked you to spare her life, didn’t he?”

“He desired her, that was all,” sneered Voldemort, “but when she had gone, he agreed that there were other women, and of purer blood, worthier of him –”

“Of course he told you that,” said Harry, “but he was Dumbledore’s spy from the moment you threatened her, and he’s been working against you ever since! Dumbledore was already dying when Snape finished him!”

“It matters not!” shrieked Voldemort, who had followed every word with rapt attention, but now let out a cackle of mad laughter. “It matters not whether Snape was mine or Dumbledore’s, or what pretty obstacles they tried to put in my path! I have crushed them as I crushed your mother, Snape’s supposed great _love!_ Oh, but it all makes sense, Potter, and in ways that you do not understand!

“Dumbledore was trying to keep the Elder Wand from me! He intended that Snape should be the true master of the wand! But I got there ahead of you, little boy – I reached the wand before you could get your hands on it, I understood the truth before you caught up. I killed Severus Snape three hours ago, and the Elder Wand, the Deathstick, the Wand of Destiny is truly mine! Dumbledore’s last plan went wrong, Harry Potter!”

“Yeah, it did,” said Harry. “You’re right. But before you try to kill me, I’d advise you to think about what you've done…Think, and try for some remorse, Riddle…”

“What is this?”

Voldemort looked thoroughly shocked, his pupils contracted to thin slits and the skin around his eyes witened.

“It’s your one last chance,” said Harry, “it’s all you’ve got left…I’ve seen what you’ll be otherwise…Be a man…try…Try for some remorse…”

“You dare – ?” said Voldemort again.

“Yes, I dare,” said Harry, “because Dumbledore’s last plan hasn’t backfired on me at all. It’s backfired on you, Riddle.”

Voldemort’s hand was trembling on the Elder Wand, and Harry’s hand gripped his own.

“That wand still isn’t working properly for you because you murdered the wrong person. Severus Snape was never the true master of the Elder Wand. He never defeated Dumbledore.”

“He killed –”

“Aren’t you listening? _Snape never beat Dumbledore!_ Dumbledore’s death was planned between them! Dumbledore intended to die undefeated, the wand’s last true master! If all had gone as planned, the wand’s power would have died with him, because it had never been won from him!”

“But then, Potter, Dumbledore as good as gave me the wand!” Voldemort’s voice shook with malicious pleasure. “I stole the wand from its last master’s tomb! I removed it against its last master’s wishes! Its power is mine!”

“You still don’t get it, Riddle, do you? Possessing the wand isn’t enough! Holding it, using it, doesn’t make it really yours. Didn’t you listen to Ollivander? _The wand chooses the wizard_ …The Elder Wand recognized a new master before Dumbledore died, someone who never even laid a hand on it. THe new master removed the wand from Dumbledore against his will, never realizing exactly what he had done, or that the world’s most dangerous wand had given him its allegiance…”

Voldemort’s chest rose and fell rapidly, and the Doctor was preparing for the curse to come.  
“The true master of the Elder Wand was Draco Malfoy.”

Blank shock showed in Voldemort’s face for a moment, but then it was gone.

“But what does it matter?” he said softly. “Even if you are right, Potter, it makes no difference to you and me. You no longer have the phoenix wand: We duel on skill alone…and after I have killed you, I can attend to Draco Malfoy…”

“But you’re too late,” said Harry. “You’ve missed your chance. I got there first. I overpowered Draco weeks ago. I took his wand from him.”

Every eye in the Hall was now on Harry.

“So it all comes down to this, doesn’t it?” whispered Harry. “Does the wand in your hand know its last master was Disarmed? Because if it does…I am the true master of the Elder Wand.”

A red-gold glow burst suddenly across the enchanted sky above them as an edge of dazzling sun appeared over the sill of the nearest window. Both Harry and Voldemort raised their wands,

_“Avada Kedavra!”_

_“Expelliarmus!”_

The bang was like a cannon blast, and the golden flames that had erupted between them, at the dead center of the circle they had been treading, marked the point where the spells collided. The Doctor saw Voldemort’s green jet meeting Harry’s red. He saw the Elder Wand fly high, dark against the sunrise, spinning across the enchanted ceiling like the head of Nagini, spinning through the air toward the master it would not kill, who had come to take full possession of it at last. And Harry, with great skill, caught the wand in his free hand as Voldemort fell backward, arms splayed, the slit pupils of the scarlet red eyes rolling upward. Tom Riddle hit the floor with a mundane finality, his body feeble and shrunken, the white hands empty, the snake-like face vacant and unknowing. Voldemort was dead, killed by his own rebounding curse, and Harry stood with two wands in his hand, staring down at his enemy’s shell.

The Doctor slid back to the corner as the tumult brok around Harry and the screams and the cheers and the roars of the watchers rent the air. The fierce new sun dazzled the windows as they thundered toward Harry, the Doctor removed the Cloak, then pushed his way forward.

The sun rose steadily over Hogwarts, and the Great Hall blazed with life and light. The Doctor managed to pull Harry away from the excitement. He seemed overwhelmed. They strolled through the destroyed courtyard. “I’m very proud of you, Harry.” The Doctor said.

“What?” Harry looked at him,

“I’m proud of you.” The Doctor said, “You were brilliant.” Harry grinned,

“So were you, I never would’ve made it without you.”

“Hey, Doctor! Harry!” Ron and Hermione shouted, running to catch up, the Doctor smiled at them,

“Oh, I grabbed this for you,” The Doctor said, holding the resurrection stone, “you left it on the forest floor, but I assumed you wouldn’t want it, not to keep. I thought I would take it on the TARDIS, keep it safe.”

“Yeah, that would be great.” Harry nodded.

“And I know you’re gonna keep the Cloak,” Ron said, “but what about the wand?”

Harry pulled out the Elder Wand.

“I don’t want it.” He decided.

“What?” said Ron loudly. “Are you mental?”

“I know it’s powerful,” said Harry wearily. “But I was happier with mine. So…”  
He rummaged in the pouch hung around his neck, and pulled out the two halves of holly still just connected by the finest thread of phoenix feather. If this would not work, nothing would.

He laid the broken wand upon a bench, touched it with the very tip of the Elder Wand, and said, “ _Reparo.”_

As Harry’s wand resealed, red sparks flew out the end. He picked it up, grinning from ear to ear.

“I’m putting the Elder Wand back were it came from.” Harry said, “It can stay there. If I die a natural death it’s power will be broken, won’t it? The previous master will never have been defeated. That’ll be the end of it.”

The Doctor nodded.

“Are you sure?” said Ron. There was the faintest trace of longing in his voice as he looked at the Elder Wand.

“I think Harry’s right,” said Hermione quietly.

“That wand’s more trouble than it’s worth,” said Harry. “And quite honestly,” He turned to the Doctor with a smile on his face, “I’ve had enough trouble for a lifetime.”

The next morning, the Doctor planned his departure. He returned to the Burrow with the Weasley family (plus Harry and Hermione) for one final goodbye. 

“Won’t you stay?” Hermione asked, “there’s plenty of room.”

“Nah,” The Doctor said with a grin, “But maybe I’ll see you again, but for now I’ve got to go. Things to do, loose ends to tie up, you know.”

“Thank you.” Harry said, staring at the Doctor, “For everything.”


	33. A Service to Severus Snape

The TARDIS dematerialized, and the Doctor went to fulfil his first promise. He looked at the scanner; Hogsmeade Station; Scotland; Sol III. He flung open the doors to see a completely shocked Severus Snape, staring at the blue box, “Well come on, then, there’s a war on and I can’t have you standing out there.” Snape stepped in, 

“Undetectable Extension Charm.” He said confidently,

“Superior Time Lord technology.” The Doctor corrected.

“Time Lord?”

“My species. Low rundown; I’m an alien, I just came here for a holiday, but got wrapped up in a war (I do hate those).”

“This is…Unexpected…”

“I should think so,” The Doctor grinned, “Now, we’ve got to get you out of the country, preferably planet, but I don’t know how fond of that idea you are.”  
“I’d much prefer to remain on the planet, thank you very much.” Snape said, 

“Very well, then, where’d you like to go? Somewhere far away where you won’t be recognized. America? Australia? Japan? Atlantis?”  
“Atlantis is a myth.”

“Yes, well that’s what the Quai who live there want you to think.”

“What?”

“Well, now to think of it, they’re not too inviting, last time I was there they chained me up for a week. Well, it would’ve been a week until my execution, but I escaped thanks to a little help from Houdini.”

“You’re mad!”

“Quite right you are, now, where would you like to go?”


	34. The Rescue of Fred Weasley

Fred stared as the spell came closer and closer to him. It felt like slow motion, the green light flying through the air. And there was that noise, a whooshing, wheezing sound, and wind, there was so much wind. Why was there so much wind? Suddenly, he found himself inside a room. A high-tech room covered in circles and in the center, a large console. A man moved from behind the console. “Hello again.”  
“Doctor?” The Doctor smiled, 

“The very same.”

“Woah,” Fred looked around at the large room he was in, “Where are we?”

“This is my ship,” The Doctor grinned, 

“And where are we going?”

“I’m taking you back home!” The Doctor grinned, “I’ve got some errands to run, people to see, things to do, your family will be happy to see you again.” With the final switch of a dial, the TARDIS materialised right in front of the Burrow, Fred made his way to the door that jumped open as the Doctor snapped his fingers, watching the young man run into the house. There was a scream and the Doctor heard Mrs. Weasley start crying of joy. Fred pulled her to the window to point to the Doctor’s TARDIS as he dematerialized, not saying goodbye, as he still had a few people to visit.


	35. One Promise Kept

The Doctor strode through the door, the two men inside wheeled around. “Who –” one began, but froze when he recognized the familiar, yet older, figure.

“You –” The other started, raising his wand, but the Doctor stopped them, flicking his wand and freezing them in place.

“I warned you, Travers, Selwyn, I warned you.”

“We – we were only following orders…” Travers said, 

“Oh, but Travers, I know you and what you’ve done. You’ve killed countless people,  _ countless families _ . And yet, even after not heeding my warning, you decided to continue, to go to a school and murder children.  _ Children. _ ” The Doctor stepped forward, looking at the two of them, “You have made a very powerful enemy.”

“Please,” Selwyn whispered, “Mercy.”

“I have already shown you mercy.” The Doctor spat, “You are beyond that now.”

“Please, I have a daughter…” Selwyn begged, “Please…mercy.” The Doctor considered him for a moment as he went on, “I wanted to keep her safe, look at the history and you will see, I worked for the Ministry, only joining the Dark Lord when I thought it was necessary, I wanted to protect my family…Please…Mercy…” The Doctor looked him cold in the eyes, “Run.” And with that, he released Sleywn from his magical binds, “But don’t doubt that if I see one more deed like this, I will find you again.” Selwyn ran.

The Doctor turned back to Travers, “And now for you, you have been with the Dark Lord for far longer than he.” Travers didn’t dare respond. The Doctor looked at him square in the eyes, “I’m going to make sure you never hurt another being again.” The colour drained from Travers’s face, yet he still spat out,

“Do your worst.” The Doctor looked at him,

“Not even  _ I  _ am that cruel.”

 

It was only a few minutes later that the Doctor returned to his TARDIS. There was one more thing he had to do.


	36. A Trip to St. Mungo's

Making his way through St. Mungo’s, the Doctor finally found the door he had been looking for. Entering, he found the two people he had been looking for. “Hello,” He smiled fondly, making his way towards them and placing his fingers on the woman’s temples. It was quick and easy to erase the few moments that were blocking any memories from developing. Once done, he simply retracted himself, and moved to the man, repeating this action. The Doctor smiled, making his way to the TARDIS and standing in front of it when a young man walked in. He looked tired and was holding a Shrivelfig plant, as he knew it was his mother’s favorite. Smiling, he placed it on the table beside her. 

“Hey mum.” But the woman didn’t look distracted or confused like she usually did, her eyes were locked and fixated on the spot where the young man stood. “Mum?”  
“Neville?”


End file.
